The Winchester Traveling Picture Show
by silver ruffian
Summary: This series consists of drabbles, ficlets, and longer chapters, crossovers of the Winchesters in various AUs inspired by books or movies. Spoiler warnings and separate ratings where applicable. Will be updated regularly. Now showing: The Ring 2.
1. Twilight: Edward

**A/N:** I decided to put all the stories I wrote about Winchesters and movies/plays under one umbrella, so here it is.

**And now for the obligatory Summary: **This series contains ficlets and drabbles of Winchesters vs movie monsters or in situations inspired by other media. First up: Twilight. Dean Winchester meets Edward Cullen. It doesn't end well.

* * *

**_Ugly Chicken_**

The boy's drunk.

Noisy, carefree, ready to eat. He's a mouth-watering Happy Meal stumbling merrily along, served up in a darkened alley.

Wide green eyes, dark blond hair. Pretty or ugly, it makes no difference. Humans all taste like chicken in the dark. The hunger's too strong; Edward's tired of fighting it. He grabs his food by the shoulders, spins him around.

Bright silver steel flashes; sparkly pale flesh shatters like brittle ice.

Edward's severed head bounces onto the cobblestones like a half-ripe melon.

"Eat it, Twilight!" The words follow Edward down into the eternal dark. "Dude, you weren't even _close_..."

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Oh come on, how did you _think_ this was going to end?

Go, Dean! Awrrrooooo...Go Team Jacob!


	2. Twilight: Jacob

_**A/N:**_ Or you could call this _When Dean Met Jacob_, if you prefer. Challenge words used in both drabbles: skin, scratch, dude, wall, splinter, spine, numb, face, space, fade, weird, shoulder, ankle, blanket, sheet, ridiculous. Challenge phrase: All of a sudden.

_**Word Count:**_ 100 on the nose in each section.

_**Summary:**_ E/O CHALLENGE. This is the sequel to _Ugly Chicken_. Edward Cullen's family shows up; Dean meets Jacob Black. Two related drabbles using sixteen drabble words and one challenge phrase.

* * *

**_Dog Day Afternoon_**

Dean catches a glimpse of sparkly skin as he turns.

_Not gonna get outta this without a __scratch__. _

He doesn't have his machete with him, but he'll still go down swinging.

Too damn many of them. Hitting that big dark haired dude is like punching a brick wall.

The vamp laughs. "That all you_ got_, meat? My turn."

Bones break and splinter; Dean's spine goes numb as he face plants into the dirt.

All of a sudden the space around him is filled with fur, teeth, howling.

Slow fade to black. Dying doesn't hurt like he thought it would.

Weird.

* * *

Shoulder's in a sling. Left ankle's shattered.

Dean's bed ridden now, covered by a blanket and sheets. He's broken, surprised as hell that he's still breathing.

The new Other ones don't say much; Dean knows the look.

_You're a hunter. Well, we are too. _

Their alpha male shows up. It's ridiculous. He's a damn kid, half naked, feral.

"You killed Edward Cullen. I'm Jacob Black."

"You're shifters. Wolves," Dean says flatly.

"That's right. You got a problem with _that_?"

_Wouldn't be here if it wasn't for them. _

"Hell no."

Dean puts out his hand; Jacob takes it. Damn strong grip.

-30-


	3. Lemony Snicket: Sam

The full title is:_ Sam Winchester's Series of Unfortunate Events (And The One That Saved Him). _Inspired by the movie _Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortuntate Events._

**_Summary:_** Written for the E/O CHALLENGE. Drabble word: unfortunate. Sam loses people. Always has. Warning: Character death.

* * *

Uncle Richard took him in after the fire in Lawrence.

Sam was just a baby. The last one left.

"Them's the breaks." Uncle Richard winked dark gold at him, years later. "It's unfortunate, but that's life, kiddo."

The life Sam has now, full of blood and magic and wild weather, it's all he's got left.

That, and Uncle Richard.

Uncle Richard dies one day, his face frozen in disbelief.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean says softly. He lowers the special Colt to his side. "I'm here, bro'. I'm here."

Sam forgets how to breathe.

Everyone leaves Sam, but _sometimes _they come back.

-30-


	4. Jeepers Creepers

_**Summary:**_ E/O CHALLENGE. Drabble opening line: The first one was intense, the second knocked him off his feet. Dean Winchester versus the Creeper from _Jeepers Creepers._

_**Word Count:**_ 100

* * *

**_Catch of the Day_**

The first one was intense, the second knocked him off his feet.

Dean hit the ground hard. Fear rose up in his gut.

…_no…I screwed up…_

Everything went black.

* * *

The Creeper clawed its way up from the hated ground.

First day, 23rd spring.

It kneeled over the meat, sniffed that freckled skin.

Beautiful. Strong. Tasty.

The boy opened his eyes.

Pretty…moss green…

_Jeepers Creepers, _the demon whistled, _where'd you get them peepers…_

The human held this funny old pistol in his hand.

The Creeper laughed.

* * *

"Gotcha," Dean whispered fiercely. He aimed Samuel Colt's special gun, pulled the trigger.

* * *

From SuperWiki:

_Back in 1835, when Halley's Comet was overhead, same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter. A man like us, only on horseback. Story goes, he made thirteen bullets. This hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. They say... they say this gun can kill anything._

– _John Winchester__, __1.20 Dead Man's Blood_

_**A/N:**_ I have the feeling that Dean didn't want Sam around with this one, especially if Dean wasn't sure that the Colt would work. Sam's unconscious and handcuffed in the bathroom of their motel room. There's gonna be major bitchface when Dean gets back. Even tho in the movies they say the Creeper can't be killed, I like to think that Sam Colt's pistol could do the job. After all the Creeper never met the Winchesters. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.


	5. Wicked

_**Summary:**_ Written for the E/O CHALLENGE. Drabble word: wicked. _SPN/Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West _Xover.

_**Word Count:**_ 100

_**A/N:**_ Drabble title paraphrased from this line in the book: "Animals should be seen and not heard." I read the summary of the book, I've never seen the play. I'm making this stuff up as I go along. It's Michael/Dean, Sam/Lucifer and Elphaba. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

* * *

**_Flying Hairless Monkeys Should Be Seen And Not Heard_**

The sun boomed and the sky burned the day Elphaba found them in the desert.

Golden freckled skin, dark blond hair. His pure white wingspan was enormous. The other was taller, younger, dazzling blue green eyes, gigantic storm dark wings.

For twenty years neither one said a word.

"They're coming for me," Elphaba said one day. "You have to go."

"No." The bright one's moss green eyes glowed with fire. "We'll fight for you."

The dark one whispered aloud. "Wicked is as wicked does."

Elphaba laughed. "So be it then."

It started with a bang, and it ended that way.

-30-


	6. Paranormal Activity: Dean

_**A/N: **_I feel the same way about the demon in _Paranormal Activity_ as I do about Edward Cullen in _Twilight _and the Creeper in _Jeepers Creepers_: those fugs need their asses kicked, and who better to do it than the Winchesters? This is way over 100 words, so I can't pass this off as a drabble. It _was_ inspired by the latest E/O Challenge drabble word (this week, it's _rough_) and this marks my second official Xover, so yay for me!

_**Disclaimer: **_I don't own _Supernatural _or _Paranormal Activity_. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

_**Summary:**_ A _Supernatural/Paranormal Activity_ Xover. Dean and Sam Winchester investigate the curious case of Katie and Micah in sunny San Diego, California. First up is Dean, with a little help from his so-called better half, and Sam's next. Two separate AUs.

* * *

_**Part 1: Show and Tell**_

Micah's bleeding, and Katie's stopped screaming. She's smiling now, wide and cheerful, with way too many teeth in her mouth, as she raises the butcher knife again and Micah can't understand any of this. All he can do is stare as she turns towards the other man in the room. Dude showed up on their doorstep that morning, said Dr. Fredrichs called his dad about Katie's case. Leather wearing, rough looking punk. Stupid name too.

Dean something.

_Win...Winchester._ Yeah, right. Like the rifle. _Prick._

Micah hated him at first sight. He didn't like the way he looked at Katie, told him to go to hell and slammed the door in his face.

Now he's back, inside the house this time, despite the locked doors and windows and the house alarm never even went off. Winchester puts himself between Micah and Katie, and for a moment Katie's face shifts and changes into something dark and gleeful.

"Hey pretty boy," Katie growls in this impossibly deep voice. "You wanna see something that's really frightening?"

"You show me yours and I'll show you mine," Winchester growls back.

It gets pretty confusing after that.

Micah can't understand where that damn dog came from all of a sudden. It's big and shaggy, doesn't look like any dog he's ever seen before. Last time he saw a critter like that, it was in a western.

The camera's still rolling, and Micah hopes he got this all on tape.

Katie's knees buckle as the shadow comes out of her, all dark and smoky. It doesn't get far. The dog's _there_, right on top of the thing, with its teeth sunk into what could be its throat, shaking its head from side to side like a terrier killing a rat.

The shadow breaks apart, just as Winchester catches Katie in his arms. Micah sure in the hell doesn't like that. He can't do anything but slump against the wall. Things are getting kind of grey and hazy around the edges. His side hurts, and his t shirt's soaked, all wet dark and slick.

Micah blinks, long and slow, and Katie's sitting unconscious right next to him, slumped over, the side of her head resting on his shoulder. Winchester's there, and how the hell did he move that quick? His hand's pressed against Micah's bloody skin, underneath his ripped tee shirt.

The man's eyes glow moss green and bright golden, and that's a trick of the light. It _has_ to be.

Winchester quirks an eyebrow at Micah. "Dude, next time you wanna go all Blair Witch with a camera, do it with a human, yeah? Not some damn demon."

Micah stares past Winchester's shoulder at the dog.

The shadow's gone now, faded away, and the mutt stands there grinning, pleased with itself.

_Dumbass,_ the mutt grumbles. _Playin' with fire. _

_Coyote, _Micah thinks to himself. _That's what this damn thing is. A coyote. _

Everything goes slip-sliding away from him just then, and that's the last thought Micah has for a while.

* * *

Dr. Fredrichs calls the next morning.

Katie answers the phone. Good thing, too. Micah would have cussed the bastard out for ditching them like that the night before.

Katie comes back to the bed, and she's smiling, but its really _her_ this time, relaxed and peaceful for the first time in a long time. She slides into bed next to Micah, puts her head on his chest and snuggles up against his side. He vaguely remembers something about blood and a butcher knife and that damn Dean Winchester, but that _can't_ be right. He feels fine. Better than fine, and there's not a mark on him.

There's something about a wild dog too, and maybe he should care a little more about all of this, but oddly enough, he doesn't. Micah goes back to sleep with Katie in his arms, and when he wakes up hours later the first thing he does is check the camera.

Whatever happened Micah's pretty sure he captured it all.

He didn't. The recording's blank.

* * *

**_BTW:_** This is a story from the Coyote 'verse I created in _Dog Eat Dog_. In it Dean Winchester is the human half of the trickster God Coyote.

Sam's up next.


	7. Paranormal Activity: Sam

_**A/N: **_Let's just say that Sam sees Katie while he's at college. Since this is an AU, in this one Sam went to the University of California, San Diego, where Katie attended school, instead of Stanford in Palo Alto. I always wondered since the fugly never left her, if it ever followed her to school one day, which was against the rules...oh, never mind. The title of this chapter is a variation of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" but it's from the song _X.Y.U._ by Smashing Pumpkins: _"Mary had a little lamb/Her face was white as snow/And everywhere that Mary went/I was sure to go/Now Mary's got a problem/And Mary's not a stupid girl/Mary's got some deep shit/Mary does not forget..."_

Katie should be that lucky. Here we go...

* * *

**_Part 2: Katie had a little lamb_**

The first time Sam sees Katie he sees the shadow around her.

He tries not to stare.

They were in the library, and Sam stood quietly as he watched her eyes glaze over. That toothy grin on her face sent a chill down his spine. Her skin pales, then darkens. Sam's breathing quickens, fast and rough, as he watches her sit down at the table nearest the window.

Katie's not there anymore. Sam can see it. The thing inside her looks around, grinning, loving the feel of the warm flesh around it.

Sam's knees shake slightly. He leans against the bookcase behind him, and he thinks about calling Dean. He thinks about it, but he doesn't do it. That bothers him, but he crumples the feeling up, pushes it down deep inside him. He's gotten pretty good at that.

The day Sam left for college. John Winchester was all thunder and wrath: "You walk out that door, Sam, don't bother coming back!" As loud as Dad was, Dean was quiet. Sad. That didn't dawn on Sam until later, how quiet and somehow pale Dean had been on the drive to the bus station. He'd never seen his big brother look or act like that before. It's been a year now, one year away from hunting and that damn life, and Dean hasn't called in all that time. It's just as well.

Sam stares at Katie as she sits there, grinning slyly to herself. He knows he has a job, right here in front of him, for God's sake.

Later on he hacks into the student database, finds out her name and her class schedule. He's hunting again, and it's like riding a damn bike. He can't forget, no matter how hard he tries.

He sees Katie several times after that. The thing inside her is smart. It loves being out and about in the sun and air, does just enough to screw her life up. Katie zones out during class, sways in her seat back and forth every other class period. People see it, and they ignore it, every damn time.

When he was very young, Sam used to think that the dark things always waited until nightfall to come out.

Sam knows now how wrong he was about that.

On the last day Sam sees Katie as she's crossing the quad to get to her Spanish class. He doesn't go near her. He doesn't have to. Sam focuses his attention on her. He hooks the darkness inside her with his mind and pulls. Hard.

Katie stops short, frozen.

His head hurts, but Sam pulls again. The sonofabitch demon doesn't want to come out. It fights him, hangs on inside Katie's flesh. Her body jerks and twitches, and Sam knows if he's gentle it'll kill her. If he hesitates, she'll die. It's like pulling off a band-aid: fast hurts like hell, but it's quicker, better, so he gives one last yank with his mind and the demon comes out, screeching and wailing.

Sam wills it _dead_. Wills it _gone_. It dies in the bright sunshine, and Sam waits. Katie blinks several times, and when she comes back to herself she clutches her books to her chest and looks around dazedly. Sam waits until she stumbles off, and then he heads in the opposite direction. His Ethics in Law class starts in five minutes, and Professor Pattison can be a purebred bitch about latecomers.

Sam's head is pounding now, a low, heavy ache that settles in right behind his eyes. Sam reaches into his pocket, pulls out an aspirin bottle and shakes out four pills. He makes a nasty face as he dry swallows them. That'll do for now.

He glances back at Katie, and he thinks of Dean.

Dad and Dean thought he wanted normal. That wasn't why Sam left; that wasn't it at _all_. He _had_ to leave, before they found out what he could _do_, what he _really_ was. Being at odds with Dad seemed natural and normal; it was the hurt look on Dean's face if he ever found out that Sam knew he couldn't take.

Sam shoulders his backpack. His eyes go to slits against the sunlight as he trudges to class. He's not normal, never has been, but he can _pretend_, at least.

-30-


	8. Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends

The full title is: _The Velveteen Winchester, or How Sam Became Real at Foster's Home for Um... Made 'Em Up Pals_

_**A/N:**_ Written quickly and un-beta'd, so any errors are mine, all mine. The front part of the story title is from _The Velveteen Rabbit_; the last half is from an episode of _Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends_.

_**Xover:**_ _Supernatural/Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends_

_**Summary:**_ Sam Winchester tries to make a life for himself at Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own either _Supernatural_ or _Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends_. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

* * *

One upon a time there was a boy named Sam.

He was fairly certain that Sam was his name. Most days he'd answer to "Hey you."

Sam was a good boy now. Frankie and Madame Foster told him that all the time.

When he looked into the mirrors in the big hallway, Sam couldn't understand why he looked different sometimes. Sometimes he was tall, with shaggy brown hair. Sometimes he was shorter, but his hair was still shaggy.

His eyes were still sad, whether he was big or not.

That never changed.

He was pretty sure he wasn't in Kansas anymore, Toto. Sam didn't know why that kept coming to him, but it did. He wasn't even sure what Toto was, but a dog seemed about right. Sam liked the idea of that.

Sam thought he had family. Or maybe not. He was kind of fuzzy on the details. Sam thought his mother had long blonde hair and a bright beautiful smile. He couldn't remember seeing her in person. The image he had of her was kind of flat.

Thinking about his Dad made him mad _and _sad at the same time. Dad was big and growly and dark. Dad didn't understand Sam, and they yelled at each other. A lot.

And then there was Dean.

Dean was awesome. Dad was dark, Dean was light. Dean growled too, but he was different. He called Sam "Sasquatch", played pranks on him and bled for him, even told him he would die for him. They fought like cats and dogs sometimes (more like brothers, really) but Dean loved him, even when Sam had those headaches of his, the ones that turned everything yellow around him and hurt so bad it seemed like his head would explode.

Sam was Dean's imaginary friend.

Sam knew that because Madame Foster told Sam that four year old Dean really wanted a little brother, and he wished so hard and so long Sam appeared.

"Long as I'm around, nothing bad's gonna happen to you," Dean told him one day. Dean looked older, bigger, and Sam didn't trust that memory. Dean shouldered his duffel and looked Sam right in the eyes. "I'm not leavin' you, dude."

"Dean's not allowed to come here because he's bad," Duchess told Sam. He couldn't see her when she turned sideways. That was normal for her. "Dean likes sharp pointy things and guns and things that go boom. He likes fire. We can't have that around here. Dean's dangerous and _you're_ lost and crazy. He doesn't want you around anymore, Sammy boy."

Sam didn't know what to make of that. She might have been right. He wasn't sure.

Sam still got excited whenever he heard a rumbly sound. It rumbled when it rained, rumbled when trucks went by on the road outside the Home. Some of the other friends teased Sam about it, but he still got excited.

They weren't his friends. They were _someone else's_ friends. He _was _sure about that.

Sam cried himself to sleep most nights. His shoulders shook, and he didn't feel right, but when sleep overtook him Sam dreamed of battered brown leather, wide green eyes, and a cocky go to hell smirk.

* * *

Sam couldn't remember exactly how he came to the Home in the first place. Once he realized he couldn't leave, he fell into a routine fairly quickly.

At first the routine involved a lot of cussing. And fighting. He couldn't understand why Madame Foster's eyes looked funny sometimes. Frankie was nice enough to him, but Sam was a lost cause, and he knew it. Besides, Frankie had horns. They were underneath her hair, but Sam knew they were there just the same.

Sam tried not to stare at Mr. Herriman. The sight of a giant rabbit wearing a tuxedo and a monocle did freak him out a little, but it could have been worse.

It could have been clowns.

Mr. Herriman punished Sam for not following the house rules. In the beginning Sam got punished a lot.

Sam tried to leave, and Mr. Herriman broke his right leg just by thinking about it.

Sam mentioned Dean one time too many, and Mr. Herriman made Sam's voice go away for a while.

Mr. Herriman was not a nice rabbit. He knew tricks. Knew how to make Sam hurt without touching him. Mr. Herriman could keep Sam in agony for hours.

After a while Sam retreated inside his own head. He was a good boy when he came out. Most days his head hurt, low and dull and heavy, right behind his eyes. The Home smelled like burnt matches now, and Sam didn't mind.

He really hoped that Mac would take him home. Mac was only eight years old. He was kind and shy, but Bloo belonged to Mac, still did, apparently, and Sam didn't want to make Bloo mad.

Bloo looked funny, like a cylinder, but sometimes, when Sam didn't look at him directly, Bloo had red wrinkly skin and sharp white teeth like needles. The pranks Bloo played on Sam weren't as good as that time Dean put Nair in Sam's shampoo. Bloo's pranks hurt.

Sam remembered lying in bed moaning as his broken bones knitted themselves back together. Duchess sat by his bedside and laughed at all the blood.

Eduardo cowered in a corner nearby and cried because the sight of Sam's blood scared him.

The less said about Wilt, the better. He seemed friendly enough, with his stubby left arm. His left eyestalk was crooked. That was disturbing enough. He was very tall, and very red.

Sam hated the color red now.

Sam kept to himself, and he hoped Dean would come.

Dean didn't, and Sam wondered if Dean still loved him.

Prob'ly not.

* * *

It might have been a Tuesday when the clowns finally came for Sam.

Maybe it was a Wednesday.

The sun was out. Sam remembered thinking that since the sun was up in the sky outside, dark things had to stay hidden until the moon came up.

Sam knew he was wrong when he looked up and saw the first clown slink into the room sideways on four legs.

There were ten of them. Some of them walked on two legs. Some of them didn't even _have _legs. That redness around their mouths wasn't makeup. It was too dark and too thick, for one thing. It dripped down their chins and smelled like copper.

Sam backed into the wall of the rec room as they crept towards him. He stared at the pool table and he thought of picking up one of the pool cues, breaking it in half and staking the nearest one in the heart with it, but his muscles shook and his head hurt, so he just stood there. It was all he could do.

Freakin' clowns. Couldn't get any worse than this.

Nobody tried to help him. Not Frankie, not Mac, not even Wilt or Eduardo. Everyone stood around and watched.

The clowns wore bright colors like red and purple and green, but their skin was grey and mottled. Large black bugs scuttled out of their mouths and then burrowed back inside their ears. The lead clown was taller than Sam. Those clown eyes shone icy silver, and when he smiled his teeth moved and wiggled inside his mouth. His clown costume was smeared with blood and what looked like grey brain matter.

_Come on, Sammy boy. Time to play._

They talked inside his head without opening their mouths, and the sound of those voices scraped Sam's brain.

_Big brother doesn't love you anymore, remember?_

Sam shivered.

_If he did you wouldn't be here._

Sam shook.

_So you're not real anymore. _

Sam felt cold and dead inside.

_It's mind over matter, little boy._

He didn't even flinch when Clown Boy reached out and gripped his shaky right bicep with bony white fingers.

_We don't mind, 'cause you don't matter. _

"Hey!" someone roared out. It was a single word that made everyone stop dead in this tracks.

Whoever this was sounded _pissed_.

Sam blinked. It wasn't Mr. Herriman. It wasn't Mac's brother Terrence, either. Sam recognized the voice, at least, he thought he did. His knees shook so much he pushed his back against the wall, hard, otherwise he would have slid right down to the floor.

Everyone turned to look at the man who stood in the doorway.

"You sonofabitch, get your damn hands off my brother," Dean Winchester snarled.

Dean had his sawed off shotgun in one hand, and a long handled ax in the other. The shiny silver head of the ax rested comfortably on Dean's shoulder. He had other weapons on him, too. Sam could tell.

The clown nearest the door snarled and rushed at Dean with its claws extended.

Dean smiled, bright and feral.

Sam watched his brother go to work. Duchess was right about one thing: Dean was a _dangerous_ man.

And maybe Sam wasn't lost and crazy anymore.

* * *

"Dude," Dean murmured softly. "I'm...I'm sorry."

Sam froze. Sorry? He still couldn't think straight. His body felt like it was shrinking, going from big to little, then back to big again, but Sam supposed the longer he stayed real, the better he would feel.

He was almost certain of that, until Dean said he was sorry. Was Dean going to say, "I'm sorry, I'm gonna have to leave you here after all"? Or, "I'm sorry, but you're really not my brother. My mistake."

Sam heard himself say, "Sorry for what?"

Dean shrugged as he closed the Impala's trunk and walked to the driver's side. He looked young all of a sudden, young and uncertain. Dean seemed nervous, and Sam didn't know why.

Smoke poured out of the windows of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends. Sam looked at the solid sheet of bright flame that licked at the front door frame, and he couldn't remember if he'd walked out on his own. He must have, though.

Sam wanted to get gone. He walked over to the passenger side and fumbled with the door lock.

_Let me in. Take me with you. Please…_

Dean slid behind the driver's side just as Sam finally opened the door and settled onto the bench seat. "I'm sorry I didn't find you before now."

The Impala came to life with a welcome rumble _(Glad to have you back, kiddo)._

"We're gonna head for Bobby's. Hole up there for a while." Dean pulled away from the curb. He glanced in the rear view mirror. There was no other traffic on the road right now, but Sam didn't understand why Dean frowned a little.

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "I just…I thought you ditched me. That's all."

"Why would I do that?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "This life, remember? You told me back in Chicago I'd have to let you go your own way, once everything was over. It's not over. Demon's still out there. So's Dad. You were pretty pissed at me when I said we had to split up from Dad." Dean shrugged. "I dunno. I thought maybe you decided to bail on me early."

Sam shook his head. "Nope. You're stuck with me."

The look Dean gave him was slightly puzzled, but then he nodded to himself. The corners of his mouth turned upwards slightly, and his eyes softened. "Okay."

Sam decided he liked that expression just as much as the one Dean wore when he split Mr. Herriman's head open with the ax.

The sunlight on his face warmed his skin. Sam listened to his heart beat, slow and steady. He watched the real world outside the windshield.

It _was_ real out here.

_Dean_ was real.

And so was he.


	9. Coraline

_**A/N: **_Story title taken from one of the taglines for the movie _Coraline_.

_**Summary:**_ E/O CHALLENGE. Drabble word – Passion(ate). This is a _Supernatural_ fic with elements of _Coraline_. Dean is 16, and Sam is 12. Rated T because Dean cusses. He has good reason to.

_**Word count each section:**_ One hundred. Boo-yah!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Supernatural_. This is for entertainment only, not for profit.

* * *

**_An Adventure Too Weird For Words_**

Sam knew exactly how many homes, how many schools he'd left over the years. Because of the hunting life.

Because of _Dad_.

Sam ached for normal, and he knew he wasn't going to get it.

He hated this life with a passion.

The Pink Palace Apartments was the tenth home in six months that year.

It was summer. No school, so there was nothing to distract him. Dad hunted some dryad spirit haunting the Garden Life store.

Dean was home. He had a broken arm from the last hunt.

And then Sam found the doll.

It looked exactly like him.

* * *

"Look after your brother, Ace," John rumbled before he left for town. "I got this covered."

Dean prowled around the apartment. He was hunting for_ something_,_ anything_, and he did it with a passion.

No boogeyman under the bed. No monsters in the closet.

_Damn._

Dean flirted with Ms. Spink and Ms. Forcible downstairs. It was a pity flirt. Didn't mean anything.

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Ladies," Dean purred softly. They both swooned and Dean smirked.

Sam didn't mention the doll. Or the key.

Or that door behind the wallpaper.

He went through the tunnel two nights in a row.

* * *

The Other part of the house _looked _better.

The _food_ was better.

_Dad was better. _

"I'm your other father, Sam. Your _better_ one." This Dad had black buttons for eyes. "We can stay in this place," he said. "We don't have to leave. You deserve normal."

Sam considered it.

Until he saw the Other Dean.

"I thought you might like him better if he didn't say anything," the Other Father said.

This Dean's eyes were black buttons. He stood there smiling blankly.

Sam felt any passion he had for this place drain out of him.

He left without saying goodbye.

* * *

Dean stood silently in the shadows. He didn't speak until Sam crawled out of the little door and shut it behind him.

"Are we having fun yet?" Dean growled fiercely.

Sam stopped in his tracks when he saw the shotgun.

"I followed you over there. I saw those _things_. Jesus, Sam, do you really hate _Dad_ that much? Do you really hate _me_ that much?"

"What? No, I don't -"

"Then tell me what the hell is going on," Dean grated out. "Damn it, Sam-"

Sam's grievances came out of him in a passionate rush of bitter words.

* * *

"_You're back_." The Other Dad murmured to Sam roughly, moments later. "And you've brought _vermin_ with you."

"Vermin?" Dean snarled as he raised the shotgun. He moved cat-like, despite his broken arm, caught up in the passion of the hunt. "Who you callin' vermin, _bitch_?"

Dean fired.

Sam didn't even flinch as the Other Father blew into pieces and died.

They found three small bodies, shriveled, lifeless, behind the hallway mirror.

"You gonna tell Dad?"

"Maybe. We gotta get rid of this key, Sam, so this never happens again."

They salted and burned all the bodies deep inside the woods.

* * *

The well was up on the hillside.

Dean dropped a crucifix in with the key. Instant holy water.

"Think that'll be enough?" Sam whispered.

"It should be," Dean whispered back.

Something rustled in the bushes. Both boys smiled a little as the scraggly black cat darted out and ran down the hill.

Dean shrugged. "We better be getting back."

"Dean…I'm sorry."

"Don't be so gullible, all right?" Dean rolled his eyes. "Better not happen again, or I'll kick your ass myself."

They left the Pink Palace two days later.

Sam never stopped hating the hunting life with an absolute passion.


	10. From Dusk Til' Dawn

_**A/N: **_Story title taken from Fatboy Slim's song of the same name.

**_Disclaimer:_** I don't own _Supernatural _or _From Dusk Til' Dawn_. This is for entertainment only and not for profit.

* * *

_**Weapon of Choice **_

Sam comes back from spring break wrong. So does his girl, Jess.

John doesn't know that then. He only knows what he sees when he follows the blood trail and the screams to the library. It's a clusterfuck all the way around, and typical Winchester luck, John's on campus checking up on the boy that night. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of his youngest son, mouth smeared with blood, holding a burly college jock in his arms. Sam drinks the dude dry like he's finishing off a beer or something.

The inside of the Law Library looks like a slaughterhouse; body parts strewn all over the place, a headless body hanging upside down by its heels from the overhead lights.

A blonde girl lunges at John, the lower half of her face filled with teeth that would do a Great White shark proud. John barely remembers staking her with a broken chair leg. He takes his machete to her, and that's when Sam tells John she's Jess.

Sam never stops laughing.

John knows he should have killed Sam right then and there. No hesitation, no mercy. He doesn't. Sam doesn't put up much of a fight. He seems to enjoy the dazed look on John's face, as if he knows that Daddy Dearest wouldn't dare harm a hair on his head. Somehow John gets him out to the truck and chains him up. They get out of there somehow, and the next thing John knows they're half a state away, and Sam's down in the cage in the cellar laughing like some damn hyena.

John barely remembers when Dean calls, doesn't realize it's two days later when his eldest son comes bursting though the front door. Dean's face is filled with a terrible blankness. He goes downstairs and Sam chirps out a cheerful greeting. "Hey, big bro'. How ya like me now, Deano?"

Sam's one happy sonofabitch.

John sits there in that ragged, overstuffed chair in the living room, and all he can think of is that Sam left the life, and it claimed him anyway.

He wonders if Mary hates him for this.

Dean's footsteps up the stairs are slow, heavy. He walks right past John, and moments later the roar of the Impala's engine shakes the house as Dean pulls off.

Dean never comes back.

* * *

The sales rep shows up at the crossroads at midnight, like clockwork, wearing a slinky black woman with hazel eyes and impossibly long lashes.

"Dean Winchester, huh?" she purrs silkily as she finally pulls out of the kiss. "Oh baby, has my boss got plans for _you_."

* * *

Sam Winchester wakes up in his cell at two minutes past midnight. He's confused, bewildered, and totally normal. Sam has a slight headache, and his mouth and throat tastes funny. He can't remember how he got there.

He can't understand why his Dad just stands there staring at him, wide-eyed.

* * *

"It'll hurt," Alastair says flatly. "A lot."

Dean strips down to his black boxer briefs.

Alastair smiles as Dean lies down on the rack.

* * *

Allie's one mouthy sonofabitch. He talks as he works. He uses his hands, cursed warm steel and cold mystical flame.

"Some of the things we deal with need to be taught a lesson. They've forgotten their place in this world." Alastair uses the tip of the blade to draw long, sweeping symbols across Dean's chest, shoulders and down his arms. The kid barely flinches; Alastair nods his approval. "You're just what the doctor ordered, pretty. You got mad skills already. I'm just gonna tweak 'em a little."

Dean bites down hard on the leather mouthpiece. It tastes sour, slimed with spit and blood of everyone who ever used it before. Dean thinks of Sam, and he doesn't scream.

Much.

* * *

Two weeks later Dean Winchester's sharing a front row table at the Titty Twister bar down in Mexico. He's sitting with two younger guys, an older man and two kids, a boy and a girl. The story is they're all one big happy family on a road trip, and Dean's content to let sleeping dogs lie like rugs.

He knows better.

The two guys are packing pistols underneath their jackets. No silver or special rounds, though, not that either of those would stop him if he had a mind to get his hands wet.

Alastair does damn fine work. Dean's a whole new animal now.

He can tell the two men are brothers by blood. He also knows that the girl is the old guy's daughter and, _duh_, the brother is adopted. Didn't take enhanced senses to figure that one out. The kid's Chinese, the other two are white.

The younger brother is sick, twisted. The older brother still loves him, though, and Dean can relate to that.

Dean pretends to ogle the strippers and the nearly naked servers as he glances around the room. The band, the bartender, hell, _all_ the employees are vamps, including that foul-mouthed freak on the other side of the door, the one doing the sales pitch in the parking lot. _He's_ the one Dean is _really _interested in, the one who turned Sam and Jess. It'll be a pleasure to send him and all the rest of their sorry asses straight to hell, but Dean plans on taking his own sweet time with _that_ one.

The band plays this half-assed musical flourish; they're trying for classy, impressive and triumphant and they fail miserably. In the next second or so nobody gives a damn, because a spectacular, dark eyed woman slinks out from behind that shiny, cheap looking red curtain. She's wearing an albino python draped around her shoulders and not much else.

Showtime.

Dean waits.

The rest of the vamps straggle in from the parking lot. The last one in is the doorman. Snake Girl has everyone's attention, so no one notices when that thick wooden bar slides across the front door. They're all locked in together now, fuglies and civilians alike. That suits Dean just fine. He's the fox in the henhouse, and things are about to get much worse.

One of the stripper vamps drops fangs and uglies up in a hurry. She makes a beeline straight for Dean. She's toothy, hissing and snarling, and Dean looks like one delectable morsel.

Dean's eyes flare bright green as he kills her with his voice.

Stupid travels in pairs. A second vamp charges Dean, and he doesn't even stand up. He grabs Dumbass by the arm and throat and face-plants him into the table top with a twist of his wrists. Dean's fingers glow and the vamp crumbles into coarse, dirty ash and cinders.

Dean finally stands up, kicks the table away and everybody human scatters. Wisps of dark golden flame flow from his skin, fill the air around him. He sees his reflection in the eyes of the normals as they back away from him. The way they look at him now is all too familiar. He's just as bad as the vamps. Worse.

_Damn right._

He's really not that heartbroken when Snake Bitch rips Sick and Twisted Younger Brother's throat out with her teeth. Dean sympathizes with the elder brother, but hey, it's not like he didn't think about doing the honors himself. Twisted reeked of rape and murder. Women. Kids. No great loss. He was a murdering freak.

_Sam's not. Not anymore. _

Sam's safe and whole now. Not so innocent anymore, but normal, alive and breathing is good enough for Dean, on any damn day.

Apparently they don't breed 'em for brains in this part of the country. The rest of the vamps, including the doorman, should be running away. They don't. Instead they surround Dean in a wide, loose circle.

Dean laughs as he turns to face them. His power sings beneath his skin; it's about time he let it out all the way.

After all, he's got work to do.


	11. Pet Semetary

**_A/N: _**SPN/Pet Sematary Xover. There's character death in this one. Don't say I didn't warn ya.

* * *

**_Lost and Found_**

Bobby never told the boys what he did after they left to save John. He told them he lied to the paramedics about that Meg girl's body, and yeah, he did.

He never told them about finding Rumsfeld's broken body.

Never told them about the graveyard down the road, either.

Bobby tries not to think about what would have happened if he'd known about that damn place after he killed...after his wife died.

He buried Rumsfeld in that place, on a whim. Being a hunter and all, that was really damn stupid. Bobby loved that dumb dog, but he was just a dog, after all.

Rumsfeld came back a day later.

Everything was fine at first. Rumsfeld smelled like dirt no matter how much Bobby bathed him, and sometimes he forgot where his food bowl was, but he acted like a happy, slobbering pooch. That lasted about a week. But then there came the day when the mutt decided to stalk Bobby out in the yard.

Bobby emptied both barrels of his shotgun into him.

He buried Rumsfeld out back, right next to the fence. Bobby renewed his long-time friendship with Jack and Jose. He spent the next three days in a fog, but all that burned away when John Winchester showed up at Singer Salvage with the bodies of his two boys.

Bobby stood there blinking in the bright sunlight at the shrouds in the trunk. He remembered Dean's bright, slightly crooked smile, the quiet way Sam moved around the house whenever they came to visit.

"They died getting me out of that place." John's shoulders shook silently, but he sounded calm. Bobby wasn't fooled, not one damn bit.

"I need...I need to give them a hunter's send-off." The old man held himself in tightly, but Bobby knew he was screaming inside.

Maybe it was the booze. Maybe it was the hang-over that made him open up his damn mouth and say those things. Maybe Rumsfeld came back wrong because he was just a dog, after all. Maybe Bobby waited too long to plant him there in there first place.

Whatever the reason, Bobby talked, and John listened.

* * *

One month later, and ain't life grand.

They have a good life out here, far away from everything. John pretends everything's fine and normal.

He'd pray, but God never was one much for answering Winchester prayers. John knows he's caught in a hellish trap. Knows it, and he just doesn't give a damn anymore.

His boys are back. They're the same, but different. They know how to bathe and dress themselves. They get a little confused sometimes. They forget the names for things, have to relearn the basics. Fire burns. Knives cut.

Once John asks Dean where they were before they came back. Dean looks blank for a moment, and then whispers, "Home."

John couldn't bring himself to ask where "home" was.

Sam doesn't say much to John. "Yes." "No." He communicates with a tilt of his head, a quirked eyebrow. Dean talks a lot more. His voice seems lighter, more child-like.

They sleep in the same room in the cabin. Most nights Dean sits upright in bed with his back against the wall. Sam stretches out on his bed just as stiff and rigid as if he were on a mortuary slab somewhere. The first time John sees Sam like that, he nearly panics. He stays calm enough to check Sam's vitals, and his hands shake a little as he fingers Sam's pulse at his throat. Sam's heartbeat is slow and steady; his skin cool to the touch.

"Sammy's sleepin', Daddy," Dean mutters quietly from the other bed. He hugs his knees, rocks back and forth until his eyes close.

* * *

Bobby tracks them down after they left Singer Salvage the first time. They've moved twice since then. Bobby won't give up until he finds them; John knows that. He remembers why they moved the first time. That family down the road didn't deserve what happened to them. Dean and Sam didn't say much, just stood there on the front porch, pale and silent.

There was a lot of blood.

* * *

John doesn't sleep much these days. He sees that dull gleam in Dean's eyes. He wonders who else is in there with Sam. Dean and Sam whisper more among themselves. They always stop whenever John enters the room.

He carries the keys to the Impala with him all the time now. There was a time when Dean was an absolute fiend with a lock and a paper clip. John doubts he'll try for the weapons cache in the trunk now. Whatever's inside his eldest son's skin doesn't have the skill for such work.

There were three knives in the kitchen drawer. When John checked this morning all three were gone.

* * *

They wait until moonrise to move on him. John sits at the wooden table near the window, and the boys smile as they slink towards him. Each one has a knife, and the sight of John's gun in his hand only makes Sam smile.

Two shots ring out. What's done is done, and what's dead is dead again.

John thinks about Bobby as he gathers the wood for the pyre. It's tempting, but he can't blame him. Not really. Hunters are human, after all. Sometimes in this game that's a weakness. Sometimes it's a strength.

It takes an eternity for the flames to finally die out. John doesn't mind. He pulls his gun from his back waistband, and he silently asks their forgiveness for being so damn weak in the first place.

_It's okay, Dad. It is._

Dean.

Slight pressure on his right shoulder. A light touch, unseen, but firm.

Sam.

John pulls the trigger seconds later, and the third bullet pays for all.

-30-

* * *

**_A/N: _**Understatement of the year: "Pet Sematery didn't end pretty."


	12. The Princess And The Frog

_**A/N: **_Something to lighten the mood here. I've taken liberties (MUCH liberties) with the story. Some dialogue taken from the Disney movie. I have no shame. Remember that, children.

_**Disclaimer: **_I don't own _Supernatural_ or _The Princess And The Frog._ This is for entertainment purposes only and not for profit. I fear Kripke _and _I fear the Mouse.

* * *

_**It Ain't Easy Bein' Green**_

Dean never really thought about the color green before this happened. Money's green. Yeah, he likes _that_ green just fine. Lettuce on cheeseburgers? A necessary evil.

Vegetables? Salads? Please.

It happened in New Orleans. They weren't on a case; Dean remembers that much. He and Sam were walking down Beal Street. They'd wrapped up that voodoo thing the night before, and now they were just two looky-loos enjoying the sunlight and the sights like everybody else.

Sammy shook that tall, skinny guy's hand for some reason and things definitely got weird after that.

* * *

Louis was okay. Dude had all those damn teeth, though. He played a mean horn and once Dean realized he was harmless (well about as harmless as a large swamp gator could be) Dean quit thinking about using his shotgun on him.

Dean really missed his shotgun. And his Colt.

And his Baby. How the hell could he drive her like _this_?

No sense in getting all worked up over spilled milk. He just had to deal. It was hard sometimes. There was that business with his tongue getting all tangled up with Sam's and being all squashed together, with Louis' help.

Uh, that _never_ happened. That was Dean's story, and he was sticking to it. For all eternity.

Raymond showed up. He flitted in the air all around them. "Hoo whee! I guess you and your boyfriend got a little carried away, am I right? Am I right?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Sam gasped. It was hard to say the words and his tangled tongue was getting dry. "He's my brother!"

"Whatever floats your boat, Cap'n. Lemme shine a lil' light on the sit-ua-tion. We gettin' to know each other now!"

"No, no wait," Dean yelped as Ray grabbed ahold of some body part Dean was pretty sure he'd need in the immediate future. "That's attached...that's attached!"

It was pulling a bandage off. Fast and painful was better. Ray got 'em loose. He was cool. Dean could listen to him talk all day. Dean didn't quite get it about Ray liking that Evangeline chick up in the sky, but hey, everybody's gotta have somebody.

It was funny watching Sam's bitchface at everything, and Dean tried everything he could think of to bring it on. Calling Sam "Kermit" and asking him whether Miss Piggy was really that good in bed was guaranteed to cause bitchface. Dean drove that one into the ground, almost to China.

According to Louis there was only one "blind lady who lives in a tree in a boat in the bayou" who could turn them back human. It was a good thing Ray showed up; turns out they were headed in the wrong direction. Louis was confused by the "topography and the geography and the choreography."

Dean thought about kicking Louis' ass for that one but his feet were too damn small.

"First rule of the bayou," Ray said solemnly, "never take directions from a gator."

Off they went in the opposite direction.

Those three frog hunters were dimwits, and hey, it wasn't Dean's fault that they scooped up Sasquatch Frog first thing.

Mama Odie found them, just as the shadow man's things turned up. That bit with the fiery gourd, when she blasted those fugs? That was _sweet_.

"You wanna be human again? You gotta kiss a princess." Mama Odie purred when they settled in back at her boat house.

"Oh yeah?" Dean smirked.

Sam rolled his eyes. His bitchface was unchanging, eternal.

"Where can I find one?"

"You keep callin' your brother 'princess', don't 'cha?"

"What? Oh _hell no_." Dean stood up tall and crossed his arms over his chest. "No way am I kissing Sam. Or a damn frog." Dean's eyes widened. "Oh. Wait a minute, Been there, done _that_."

Mama Odie chuckled. "I was jus' messin' wit' ya, boy. Spunky lil' thing, aren't ya?"

Apparently Mama Odie was a voodoo priestess, and not a witch. There wasn't much difference between the two as far as Dean was concerned. Dean decided if he saw anything that even looked like a dead rabbit around the place he was gonna throw down on her. Somehow, someway. Damn witches. Why does the rabbit always get the short end of the stick?

Dean looked around the place (_how the hell did she get this damn boat up in the damn tree anyway?_) but he didn't see anything that looked like Bugs Bunny. Dean relaxed.

He ate gumbo.

Sam did his bitchface.

Dean slept curled up in Mama Odie's wicker chair, which was okay, except for that time she nearly sat on him.

Sam hid in a corner next to some dusty old jars that had Mama Odie's eyes (_What the hell are you looking at?_) and teeth in them and did his bitchface right back at the eyes. Sam knew it was wasted effort, but it made him feel better.

Dean played cards with JuJu.

Sam's bitchface kept him company.

JuJu was an okay dude, even for a big-ass snake. He played a mean deck of cards, even with no hands. He was the tall silent type, so Dean did most of the talking while they played. "Dude. Go fish."

Dean usually won all the books, so they switched to poker. Dean bet some coins he found on the floor underneath that claw-foot bathtub. JuJu bet white mice.

Dead white mice.

Dean stared at the little dead carcass on the tabletop. Wasn't a rabbit, so he didn't get too worked up about it. "Huh, is that all you got?"

JuJu nodded.

"Forget it. Keep it."

That was the way things went until Dad showed up.

* * *

Years later, Sam still dreams of green. He eats vegetables and salads, of course, but sometimes, when it's a particular shade of green, he can't help but shudder. He imagines his skin's the same color, coated with that damn slime.

"That's not slime, princess. That's mucus," Dean said that day with a smirk.

Dean looked pretty manly, even for a frog. Even the smirk translated. He was deep chested and broad shouldered too. He had the biggest pair of green eyes Sam had ever seen, and his eyelashes were still long, dark and curvy.

It wasn't fair. Sam was still taller, but his arms and legs were skinnier. He stared at his reflection in the water. His head and feet were too big. None of this should have bothered him, but it did somehow. He was out of sorts all the time, never got the hang of hopping around like Dean did. He tasted slime on everything. His tongue was coated with it.

Dean ate anything that didn't try to eat him. He hopped around like he was born to it. He made friends with damn near everybody, including these female frogs as they were passing through the swamp. He disappeared for about an hour, left Sam with Louis and Ray, and came back with this lazy, satisfied grin on his stupid frog face.

Sam bitchfaced (and is that even a _word_?) to no effect.

What. Were. The Damn. Odds.

Damn Dean.

Sam felt like kicking his eldest brother's froggy ass.

* * *

John Winchester never looked at frog legs the same way ever again. Dean's were bow-legged and Sam had the longest limbs of any croaker John had ever seen.

He repaid Mama Odie for the phone call and for her kindness by bringing her twenty pounds of jumbo shrimp, five pounds of live crayfish and special seasonings that Bobby suggested as a thank you gift.

John scooped the boys up into a shoe box riddled with air holes. They headed for Bobby's place.

Papa Winchester tried not to laugh.

Dean didn't say much; he seemed a little embarrassed for being caught flat-footed like that, and Sam, well, Sam was being Sam, all sullen and broody. There was plenty of time later on to rag on the boys about getting caught like that.

It was just as well. He could wait. John couldn't imagine giving a marine lecture to two frogs anyway.

* * *

Sam felt achy all over and light-headed. He drew the blanket around him and huddled on the couch. Bobby knew his stuff all right; the ritual Mama Odie suggested worked like a charm.

He was naked, but no slime. No mucus. He was _human_ again.

Sam sat there and wiggled his toes. Things were looking up.

Chances were pretty good that there was an obstacle course or a long distance run in their future; but that would happen after Dad got back. Caleb was already there when they got to Singer Salvage, and after John handed off the shoebox containing his two wayward frogs - I mean, sons - to Bobby he and Caleb climbed in John's truck and took off. Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Caleb was going to drive the Impala back from New Orleans.

After Dad took care of the tall, skinny guy who bewitched his sons. The shadow man was in for a world of Winchester hurt, and that thought made Sam grin a little.

Dean staggered in from the other room, clutching his blanket around him. That tired look on his big bro's face didn't fool Sam one bit. It was the mischievous glint in Dean's eyes that gave it away. Dean fully intended to break his all-time personal best record in the "How many times can I piss Sam off?" category. He was relentless, and Sam knew the torment would continue until Dean smashed the record to bits.

Sam felt the muscles of his face tighten in anticipation. Dean flopped down on the couch right next to him. The corners of Dean's mouth twitched up, then straightened out.

_Bitchface in five..._

Dean sighed wistfully. _Bastard. _

_...four..._

Dean pretended to be interested in that pile of Bobby's books over in the corner.

_...three..._

Dean rocked back and forth a little.

_...two..._

Dean took a really deep breath.

_...one..._

Then, finally:

"R-R-Ribbit," Dean croaked. "R-R-Ribbit."

It was going to be a _long_ night.


	13. Zombieland

_**A/N:**_ Chapter title lifted from Tallahassee's dialogue in "Zombieland." And I know you'll recognize where the last line of this fic comes from.

_**POV:**_ Sam Winchester

_**Summary:**_ The Winchesters in Zombieland. Need I say more?

* * *

_**Twinkie, twinkie, twinkie**_

The rules Dad taught us are classics, even now.

_Always keep plenty of salt on hand. _

_When in doubt, doubletap. _

_If it bleeds, it dies. _

_Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong._

I know I gave Dad plenty of grief about the rules when I was younger. I rolled my eyes whenever he gave me and Dean one of those Marine lectures. I still feel pretty guilty about that. That's what family does, I guess. Right, wrong, or indifferent, we know all the right buttons to push, and I pushed the hell out of mine with Dad.

Another thing about family? You don't miss what you've got until it's gone.

I miss my Dad. I do.

* * *

We were headed back to Bobby's when we spotted that delivery truck. Nothing out of the ordinary about it. Not my first time seeing a truck in a ditch before, either. Highways all over the country are filled with them now. Abandoned cars, school buses. Right outside Frampton, Texas I even saw a commercial airliner parked on the pavement, with all the doors open and the evac chutes deployed.

This truck was different.

This was a Hostess delivery truck.

I admit I took one look at it and my stomach started growling. We'd been on the road for about a month. I was sick of eating cold chili, cold everything out of cans. I'd be lying if I said my mouth didn't start watering at the thought of a Twinkie, for God's sake. Hadn't had one since I was a kid, and I wasn't that fond of them even then. Sometimes that was the only thing we had to eat in the house, while Dad was away on a hunt. Dean would go to the store and use his five-fingered discount. He'd come back with cartons of milk, bottles of orange juice, deli sandwiches.

And those damn Twinkies. Dean loved Twinkies. Still does.

The back doors were closed and the windows were rolled up. It wasn't damaged, so chances were pretty good that whatever the load was, it was still inside. Intact.

Dean's eyes got wide, and he actually grinned a little. I mean an actual grin, not a smirk. I could see what he was thinking. Junk food heaven on earth inside that truck. Twinkies. Snowballs. Cupcakes.

We didn't come to a complete stop. That probably saved us.

_If something's too good to be true, then it probably is. _

Eight zombies came lurching out of the brush at us, four on each side of the highway. That was something new. They usually swarm places looking for a meal. Nothing sneaky. They're usually pretty straightforward about it.

"Sonofabitch!" Dean's lead foot came down on the gas pedal and the Impala leaped forward. The zombie directly in front of us was this huge, fat bastard wearing a dirty plaid shirt and stained blue coveralls. The lower part of its face was covered with dried blood.

Fat Bastard laughed at us. Laughed, like it knew we were trapped and on the menu now. Dean cursed as he swerved the Impala to the side and then stomped on the gas as soon as we were clear.

I watched them in the rear view mirror. They stood there watching us, then they shambled back into the brush surrounding the truck.

Damn.

"D-Dean, did you see that?" My voice was all squeaky. I swallowed hard and made my voice lower, rougher. "They're — they're planning ambushes now?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. He glanced into the rear view mirror and then stared straight ahead. "Guess IQ's went up while we were out here," he said grimly.

He gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. His lips twitched into a firm, hard line. The further we got away from the delivery truck, the harder Dean looked.

Have you ever seen one of those nature programs where a lion was driven away from a kill by a pack of hyenas? Same thing.

I knew he wasn't going to let this go.

* * *

We got back to Bobby's around dark. Even with all the lights and the mines around the perimeter it's still not safe to be out in the yard at night. Lights mean food. The zombies have learned that much. Whatever Dean was planning I knew he'd wait until dawn the next day.

I don't mean to sound heartless, but if you've seen one zombie chances are pretty darn good you've seen them all. Cincinnati was packed with zombies. So was Lansing, Michigan. They don't actually moan out "B-Brrrainsss." Might be more entertaining if they did.

I don't know where that came from. Dean's starting to rub off on me. Big time.

Guess I was more tired than I thought. It was eight in the morning when I finally rolled out of bed the next morning. Dean was already up. He was out in the yard, underneath Bobby's open shed, looking over a large assortment of metal laid out on the workbench. All of it looked pointy and pretty damned dangerous.

Bobby dumped a can of dog food in Rumsfeld's plastic bowl, then put the bowl on the porch behind me. "What's your idjit brother up to?"

Rumsfeld made a beeline past me for the bowl. I patted his head, and he rumbled a little because he liked it, but hey, Rumsfeld had his eyes on his food and he wasn't going to let a little affection from me stop him from getting to it.

I never took my eyes off Dean. "He's hunting twinkies."

Bobby laughed like hell. The look on my face didn't change, and he stopped laughing. "Oh. Damn. You're not kidding, are ya?"

"Nope."

I had one coffee mug for Dean in my hand. I didn't know if he'd had some already, but having more coffee couldn't hurt either way. Big bro' tends to get mighty grumpy in the morning before he's had that first cup.

Turns out it was his second; the first was empty. Dean took the cup I offered him, nodded his thanks and drank half.

"Uh, Dean, what's that?"

"It's a flamethrower. I made it."

"Oh. And, uh, what's that?"

"Nail gun. I souped everything up. Swapped out the muzzle and the cartridge loads. Doubled the capacity."

"And is that a rocket launcher?"

"Yep. Fires machete blades."

"Uh huh. You, uh, you been up all night with this?"

Dean grinned a little. "Been up for the past three hours."

"Oh. You're really going back there, aren't you?"

"Yep." Dean drank the rest and sat the cup down on the table. "If we let this stand, one group of zombies is gonna tell another." He shook his head. "Can't let that happen. They're planning ambushes now? Gotta nip that crap in the bud."

He picked up the nail gun. He'd swapped parts out all right; damn thing looked like it was on steroids now. Dean raised the nail gun, aimed at the sandbags six feet away and pulled the trigger.

Once.

The gun bucked slightly, but Dean's arm barely moved. Six spikes slammed into the burlap in a perfect circle.

He lowered the nail gun. "Fugs have set rules. Makes it easier to hunt the evil sonsabitches down. Changing the rules in the middle of the fight?" Dean shook his head. "Not happening. Not on my watch."

"So it's not just about the twinkies?"

"What?" Dean stared at me in mock horror. "Oh, no. I'm doing all this for the good of humanity." He smirked a little as he offered me the gun. "You wanna try it out?"

"Yeah. Why not."

Since this zombie thing started I've added some rules of my own.

Rule number one: _Never tease Dean about his weapons. Chances are pretty good that said weapon will end up saving your ass when a horde of zombies comes to call._

* * *

We came back three hours later.

The back bench of the Impala was filled with Twinkies and Snoballs. We had duffels filled with Twinkies and Suzy Qs. I had my pick of the fruit pies: Apple, cherry, lemon and strawberry.

Bobby took one look and shook his head. "Idjits."

Dean tossed him a duffel filled with junk food goodness, and that was more than enough to put this goofy smile on Bobby's face. Sometimes the power goes out, and fixing hot meals is hit or miss a lot of times. Guess he was sick of canned rations too.

Like I said, I've made my own rules. New rule number two, and this is for all the cannibal freaks out there: _never, EVER get between my big brother and a fully loaded Hostess delivery truck._

We ate ourselves stupid for the next day or so. Sometimes you gotta take a break, even when the crap's hitting the fan all around you.

_You gotta enjoy the little things._


	14. Skyline

The Winchester Travelling Picture Show. Each segment is different, each one has their own ratings and warnings.

**_Up now:_** Skyline.

_**Summary:**_ The Winchester Brothers versus the aliens of Skyline. "They're not dead. They're just really really pissed off."

_**A/N:**_ Summary line taken from line of dialogue in movie. If you have 90 minutes to kill, and can see "Skyline" at a morning matinee (don't spring for popcorn, stash some in your purse or backpack and pull out the bag when the lights go down), then I say go for it. Good special effects. Otherwise, I wouldn't pay full price to see this movie. Better still, wait for it to come out on DVD.

_**POV:**_ Dean Winchester

* * *

_**The Meanest SOBs in the Valley**_

Dad let me have his journal before we split up. Funny how things work out like that, huh? I'm writing everything down. If somebody finds this, I want them to know what happened.

* * *

I hate LA.

I'm not worried about Dad and Bobby. I'm not. Bobby's place is out in the sticks. These squiddy bastards like to go for the cities. That's where the people are. Don't think they'll hit the rural areas just yet.

I called Dad the day before the shit hit the fan. He was with Bobby. Black dog hunt. Later on my cell went out just like everybody else's did the next morning. Haven't talked to either one of them since.

I'm not worried. Bobby's got food stockpiled and that panic room of his. Not to mention all that stuff he's got stashed away in the house and in the yard.

Dad and Bobby are okay. They've gotta be.

* * *

4:32am.

Something was wrong. I couldn't figure out what. I turned over on my side and all I could see was that bright blue light outside my window.

All I could see was my Mom.

"Dean? I missed you, sweetie." She looked just like she did the last time I saw her, with that long white nightgown and her long hair shining on her shoulders.

I felt my lips move. Can't remember what I said. I rolled out of bed, took a few steps forward.

The light was so pretty. It made me happy.

I knew Mom's skin and hair would smell like almond soap and baked cookies fresh from the oven.

I stumbled. Felt like I was drunk. I was light-headed.

I wanted to hug her. Wanted to put my arms around her and tell her how damn much I missed her.

Mom smiled at me and opened her arms. "Come here, Dean. It's all right."

I took another couple of steps, and I think I laughed out loud. I know I did.

I was happy. Mom was here.

My skin felt funny. I felt bigger than usual. Stronger. That damn blue light filled me up, pulled me forward, and I didn't give a damn anymore. My mom was here. She was here, and I wanted to go to her more than anything in the world. All that crap that happened over the last twenty years was a mistake. That night in November with the screams and the fire was a mistake, it had to be, just a stupid friggin' mistake, and now somebody called do over, somebody hit the reset button, and everything was all right again.

Mom was here and soon Dad would be too. Dad and Sammy, and we'd all be together again….

Somebody screamed inside my head. I took another step, and the voice got louder.

_-not her, you damn fool, it's not her-_

I took another step forward.

_Look at it, that's not Mom - it's not her-_

I stopped and jammed my hands in my ears. I didn't want to listen. I wanted whoever this was to shut the hell up. He didn't.

It was my voice. Mine.

All I could see was that blue light and something with long arms waving around in the air behind it. I got confused. Mom wasn't there anymore. Mom wasn't there anymore and there was this thing instead, this damn fugly.

I got pissed.

Something broke inside my head. That's the only way I can describe whatever this was. It hurt like a sonofabitch. I could feel the veins on my face, chest and shoulders swell up. Everything went white hot then. My skin burned all the way down to my bones.

I remembered screaming at the thing. Yelling at it. I was pissed. Mom was gone.

Whatever was outside screamed too. It folded in on itself, and I realized was doing it. I killed it, just as easy as could be. My head hurt, but I balled that fucker up like a used Kleenex. It screamed, and the sound made me smile. I didn't stop until it was on the ground. It was on the ground and it wasn't moving, and that damn lying blue light was gone.

I sank down on my knees. I was tired and all I wanted was to close my eyes and rest.

I don't remember much after that.

* * *

I miss my baby. When I woke up later on that first day I found what was left of her out on the parking lot.

Smashed flat.

I killed every squiddy fug I saw after that. It felt good. That headache I get now is worth it. Those big ass tanker things are harder to kill. Have to get too damn close for it to work, but doing something stupid never stopped me before, now did it?

Haven't seen any people for a while. Everywhere is a vacant lot. Whenever I hole up in a house or apartment building I never look in the mirrors anymore. My eyes look funny, all washed out and pale. I can see blue veins underneath my skin.

Don't know what Dad would say if he saw the way I am now. I look just like the things we used to hunt.

And sometimes I feel like the things we used to hunt, too.

* * *

That bad feeling in my gut only got bigger and heavier when I reached Palo Alto. Stanford was smashed flat.

The only thing left was one of those city ships. Up. I'd have to go up.

I stood out in the open, and a couple of the squids came sliding by. They didn't get too close, and I didn't make a move on them. Nothing wrong here. Just a dumbass human too stupid to hide anymore.

Here I am. Come and get me.

The ship moved in until it was right over me.

I looked up, into the bright blue light.

* * *

There wasn't much light in there. It was dark. The place smelled like death.

I woke up all at once. There were bodies everywhere. People and those things. I couldn't understand that, because I hadn't even killed anything yet. I raised up on my hands and knees. Someone was standing over in the shadows.

"Dean?"

I didn't say anything. I waited.

She stepped out into the light. She was a cute little blonde. Her clothes were all torn, her skin was bruised and bloodied, but I knew her, all right.

"Dean Winchester?" she whispered.

It was Sam's girl. Jess. I'd seen her a few times. I used to swing by, and check on the brat without him knowing when I was in Cali on business. Hell, Dad used to do the same thing, but he'd never let Sam see him. The hell with that. A year after Sam left us I walked right up to Sam and Jess one day when they were walking across campus, stuck my hand out and introduced myself.

Seeing Sam's bitchface was so worth it.

"Jess?"

She nodded. She stared at me all wide-eyed. I know I look like hell now. Skin's bad, and my eyes are funny and pale.

My throat felt funny. Must have been from that light they used on me. I could barely whisper, but I had to know. "Where's…where's Sam?"

I saw something move out of the left corner of my eye. It was big. Fugly.

I turned around, and the damn thing was in the shadows. It was huge, with eight eyes. It wasn't a squiddy, looked more like a damn gorilla that someone had skinned the fur off and put scales on instead. I could feel the headache flare behind my eyes. The thing backed up into the wall, shaking its head from side to side.

If I was going to start killing, this bastard was as good a place to start as any.

Jess ran over. She almost tripped over the bodies on the floor, but somehow she made it. At first I thought she was trying to hide behind me, but then she got between me and the fug, raised her arms out to the side like she was trying to block me.

Like she was trying to protect it.

"Get out of the way, Jess. Get-"

"Dean, no! It's Sam."

I froze in place, just stood there staring. The fug's shoulders slumped. It stared at the floor like it was ashamed of itself.

I stood there staring with my mouth dropped open. Jess moved in front of me, and I didn't even flinch when she reached out and touched me on the shoulder.

"It's Sam." She whispered again, and all I could do was nod.

* * *

I listened to Jess. And I really didn't want to listen to her. We sat down in that room while Sam stood in the shadows, and she told me what happened on the first day, how she and Sam and about fifty others holed up inside the Student Center. They had to leave the next day, when the squids came. Jess said she and Sam found an apartment in another building to hide out in, and they stayed there for another two weeks.

Until the tankers started knocking the buildings down, and they made a run for it.

They saw the light. They got caught.

She told me that she watched as they took Sam's brain out, and then they…they…threw my brother's body down this chute like it was a candy wrapper.

I had trouble breathing. The walls around us shook, and I realized that was me. I wanted to shake the whole damn place down, rip the fuck out of it, but I couldn't. That went on for a minute or, then I forced myself to calm the hell down. Jess sat there calmly, and when everything stopped moving I had to steady myself, then I told her to go on, to keep talking.

She said she curled up in a ball, then, pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them, trying to protect the baby. Sam's baby.

Second time I forgot to breathe. Jess stared at my face. She leaned forward, put her hand on my knee, and started talking again.

She told me that she watched as they slipped Sam's brain into this fugly body. The squids grabbed her then, threw her down and started ripping at her clothes. They were trying to get at the baby. She didn't recognize Sam. Not at first. All she knew was the ones holding her down died pretty damn quick, and she was left lying on her side, staring up at the one who killed them all. She was numb, didn't react, until it put its hand on her back and started rubbing her back in small circles.

Just like Sam and I used to do for each other, when we were kids.

Jess told me she and Sam searched for Sam's body after that. They never found it. Never found his head, either.

She finally ran out of words. When she did I got up and walked over.

"Sammy?"

He made a noise. Sounded like a moan. Wouldn't look at me, either. Just stared off to the side shaking his head a little.

"Sam. Dude. Quit being such a damn girl, okay? Look at me."

A head shake. No. All six eyes blinked, and then went dull a little.

"Come on. Look at me." I stepped around where he could see me. "I'm not the same either."

Sam's eyes blinked, and he looked down at me. We stared at each other for a long moment. I don't remember raising my arms, but I must've, because the next thing I knew we were hugging each other.

Damn chick flick moment.

* * *

This is a big damn ship, and we're not alone up here. Jess says she thinks there are other humans around. I think she's right. I can hear them crying, off in the distance.

I can also tell there are more squiddys around.

I can hear them too.

I don't know how we're gonna get down. If we ever will. That doesn't really matter. We're here now, and we're not going anywhere. Told you before that I'm writing all this down. Maybe I'll be able to give his journal back to Dad someday. Somehow.

Sam doesn't want Jess to get involved, because of the baby. Thing is, he can't stop her.

She looked into the light, just like I did.

She can kill them, just like I do. Right now? Me, Sam, and Jess have work to do.

We're gonna kill some evil sonsabitches, and raise a little hell.

_finis_


	15. Public Enemies, Part 1

**_A/N: _**I have AU'ed the hell out of SPN's _Pilot _episode and _Nightshifter_. I have also taken the main plot element from the Johnny Depp movie _Public Enemies_. Sam's "friend" Brady _(Swan Song)_ is here; whether he's a normal human or a demon SOB is entirely up to you.

**_POV: _**Dean Winchester

**Possible spoilers for: **Nightshifter

**_Summary: _**_The Winchester Travelling Picture Show _is officially back from hiatus. Shakes fist at dead Dell CPU: _Darn you, dreaded blue screen of death! Darn you all to heck!_ This series will be updated regularly. Up now: Public Enemies (Johnny Depp).

* * *

Dad drove like a bat out of hell that night. Come to think of it, I never asked him later on how he knew about Sam's girl, Jess. Wasn't in me to question him like that. Dad wanted to go, and that was more than good enough for me. I had his back, always. That was one of the things about me that always drove Sam up the freakin' wall.

Oh well. Too late to change now.

Everything was over by the time we got there. The street was filled with cop cars and fire trucks, and the usual crowd of morbid curiousity seekers crowded together on the sidewalk. The smell of burnt pork and melted plastic made me slump down on the bench seat. All of a sudden I wasn't twenty six, I was four again. I was four, and Momma was burning on the ceiling. She was pale and bleeding and I was so little and I couldn't stop it and she burned, Momma burned...

I don'tknow. Maybe I made a noise just then, because Dad shot me a look that made me sit up straighter. He had his game face on, and after a second or two I slipped mine on too. Didn't help much, but now was not the time to lose it. Driving into a possible crime scene loaded with cops was not the brightest thing we've ever done, but hey, Sam was there. That was enough for the both of us.

Sam sat on the curb with this awful blank look on his face while the cops tried to question him. He didn't even blink as he saw us drive slowly by in the Impala. Dad parked around the corner, and I got out and walked back. We were just being cautious, is all; that last job we were on got more than a little wonky. Dad had a feeling afterwards and changed the plates on our girl.

I stood there in the crowd, heard comments like maybe it was an electrical fire, or maybe someone smoked in bed and got careless. Couldn't help it; I rolled my eyes at that one. Sam didn't smoke, and I highly doubted that Jess did either. I watched the firemen go about their business, and the damn smell made the hair at the back of my neck rise up stiff and painful, like the hackles on Bobby's dog, Rumsfeld.

Sulfur. It was sulfur smell, like burnt matches.

Nobody else seemed to notice.

This tall, blonde kid stood over to the side. The cops were questioning him too. Turns out he was the one who pulled Sam out.

Jess was dead. She never made it outside. My stomach did a slow, greasy flip flop as I realized what...who... that cooked meat smell was.

It was Deja fucking vu all over again.

I kept my distance while the cops questioned Sam. Hey, we hadn't seen each other in two years. Things got pretty heated when he left. Me and Dad checked up on him while Sasquatch was on campus, but we didn't exactly walk up to him and have an Oprah moment, y'know? I hid in the crowd until finally I heard one of the cops tell Sam that they were really sorry for his loss. Again. Sam didn't answer. At least, I don't think he did.

I didn't step out of the crowd until the cops left. His eyes widened when he saw me, and then his face went blank. We just stood there, staring at each other. I couldn't read him. Hadn't seen or spoken to my younger brother in four years, and I couldn't read the look on his face. Couldn't tell if he was going to kick my ass or tell me to go fuck myself.

I still didn't move as Sam walked up to me. He threw his arms around me and tightened his grip around me. I couldn't breathe, but I didn't notice. All I could feel was the way Sam trembled all over as he put his chin on my shoulder. His breath stuttered against my left ear. His shoulders shook. Something wet splashed against the side of my face.

I put my arms around Sam and hugged him tight.

"It's okay, dude. It's okay." Hell if I knew why I was whispering in the first place.

It wasn't okay. I knew that. I felt pretty lame even as the words came out of me, but I couldn't think of anything else to say.

* * *

Me and Sam and Dad holed up at the Holiday Inn. Sam was pretty damn quiet all this time. I didn't know what to expect at first. They didn't fight. Not the whole time. Dad told Sam, "I'm sorry that happened to your girl." They hugged each other, and_ that_ was_ that_.

I figured Sam would stay at Stanford after Jess was buried and the shock wore off. He'd made his feelings about the family business pretty damn clear the last time. He wanted normal. The life me and Dad led, well, it just wasn't for him. I didn't like it, but the kid had the right to choose. This was the best we could hope for, and I was really sorry that it took Jess dying to bring us together again.

Sam couldn't remember what happened. Said he and Jess were in bed, and the next thing he knew the place was on fire. Dense black smoke and bright yellow flames, and one of his classmates, this dude named Brady, was yelling at him, pulling him out of the bedroom.

Jess wasn't around. Sam said he couldn't see her, he _didn't _see her.

Until he looked up and saw her on the ceiling. Burning.

I didn't say anything. I just stared at him and nodded. I've gotten pretty good at hiding. I never told anyone what I saw that night. Mom, I mean. Figured all this time I had it wrong. I was four, remember? Four and scared and shaking and when Dad handed Sam to me and told me to run, I ran.

Sometimes it seems like I'm still running. And I can't run far or fast enough.

Dad looked at me funny just then. If he'd ordered me to say what was on my mind, I would have. He didn't. I don't know if that was pure dumb luck or something else entirely.

Didn't sleep well that night. Kept smelling smoke and I could feel flames licking at my skin. I woke up early the next morning, got dressed and snuck back inside Sam and Jess' house. Or at least, what was left of it. I was on edge because of the sulfur smell, and looking at all that burned rubble didn't help, either. I kept thinking what would have happened if Sam hadn't made it out of there somehow. If it hadn't been for that Brady dude, Sam wouldn't have. He told us how he kept reaching up to Jess, like he was trying to yank her out of the flames. Sam said he stared at her face, and she stared right back.

He said she looked sad.

I nearly lost it then, but somehow I kept my game face on. That feeling of deja vu came back, made my throat close up so sudden and tight I felt like I was gonna strangle.

About a week later Sam and I suited up and we went to Jess' funeral. There wasn't much left of her, but her family had the service for her anyway. I chatted up some of the folks in the crowd. Some of the girls there looked really nice, and a few of 'em even wanted to go upstairs for a while. Did we? No. Give me _some _credit.

I did get some phone numbers. You know. Just in case.

Met Brady while I was there. He'd been friends with Sam all along, said Sam helped him when he was in a bad way one time. Yeah, that sounds like Doctor Phil, all right. Brady said he was on his way home from the library and he rushed in when he saw the flames. I didn't say anything about Sam being my brother. Knowing him he probably didn't tell them anything at all about me and Dad. That was okay. We do what we do and shut the hell up about it. I kept hearing over and over that Sam and Jess were good for each other and that it was a damn shame.

Dad didn't come, and for once Sam didn't bitch about that. That artist sketch on _America's Most Wanted _didn't look much like Dad. The eyes were all wrong and the mouth looked funny, but you never know when some law abiding citizen with a hyped up imagination is going to connect the dots and get lucky. Like I said, that last job went south. Dad and me were lucky we got away clean. Dad didn't kill the guard after the dude jumped him and took his mask off. Warm as we were, we woulda been on fire if he had.

Jess' death was ruled accidental, the result of an electrical fire. We left Palo Alto two days after the funeral. I drove. Dad rode shotgun, and Sam was in the back. And all the time I tried not to sit there grinning like an idiot.

We were together again. We were a family again. And this time we were all about the family business.

Hitting the First National Bank in San Diego seemed like a good place to pick up where we left off.

* * *

Part 2 will be posted Monday.


	16. Public Enemies, Part 2

Disclaimer: I don't own _Supernatural_ or the Johnny Depp movie _Public Enemies_. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

* * *

**_Part 2 _**

It was just like old times at first. Dad put Sam through his paces, sparred with him, grilled him on the way we operated, and I could see right off the bat that the kid hadn't lost a step. He wasn't rusty, hadn't forgotten anything. First rule is to control the scene, disarm the guards, put everyone down on the floor, get in and out as quickly as possible.

We never got greedy. That's where a lot of folks screw up big time. We had the credit card scams going at the same time. Push come to shove I knew how to rig up an ATM with a card skimmer or a Lebanese Loop. Dad's not too thrilled with that one, because we're supposed to be camera shy, but I could always get around those cameras. I could've set some ATMs up on my own, but Dad doesn't like the idea of taking some civilian's money like that. He says they need their cash just like we do. The big banks were where the really big money was, and they were insured, besides. We were just moving money around, re-distributing the wealth.

Like I said, we had options. I was a fiend with a pool cue, and Dad was a shark at cards.

Sam was too. He'd sucker his marks in with this innocent "Aw shucks, I'm a newbie at this, so bear with me, will ya?" routine of his. He'd flash those puppy dog eyes at his mark and usually that was all she wrote. Before he left for Stanford I used to call him Gomer, which really used to piss him off. At least, he'd pretend it did. Caught him grinning to himself when he thought I wasn't looking a couple of times.

My baby brother woulda been a shark in the court room if he'd had half a chance.

The way things worked out, he never did.

We did research on First National. Went in a couple of times on dry runs, sat outside and watched the Brinks trucks pull up for a few days. Timed the cop cars as they went by. Usual routine. Figured our take, if we timed it right, would be eighty thousand, maybe one hundred thousand.

Ten days after we left Palo Alto, me and Dad put on two Halloween masks and went to work. Ronald Reagan and Richard Nixon walked into the First National Bank of San Diego and walked out with 20,000 dollars.

I was Nixon. At some point did I put both arms up in the air and yell out "I am not a crook?" Nope. I don't goof around on the job. Did I do that when Dad gave me the mask at our motel room? Maybe. Maybe not.

That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

Everything that could go wrong, did. One of the guards decided to be a hero, and I had to cold cock him with my gun. That made some of the civilians grow a pair. They tried to jump me from behind, and they would have too. Dad shot one of them in the leg. That made everybody settle down.

Dad and I shagged ass out of there with what we had in the bag already. Could have been worse. Could have been dye packs in there too. I hate those damn things. Got nailed by one when I was younger.

Sam was our wheel man, and getting away was the only thing that went right. Or so we thought. We ditched the SUV, switched over to our girl. We'd hidden her away in a garage Dad rented out.

By the time we arrived at Gordon Walker's place near the Cali-Nevada state line I was having a really bad feeling, like maybe things were changing and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. Dad shrugged it off. Said we'd been batting a thousand all the other times, we were bound to come up short sooner or later.

I couldn't tell if he was lying or not.

A day later I broke Gordon Walker's jaw. Dad and Sam had to drag me off the sorry sonofabitch.

Started off innocent enough. I was giving my Baby a tune up after breakfast when Gordon came up to me with half a six-pack. I didn't think much of it, then. We'd done a few jobs together. Gordon was okay. Kinda reminded me of Dad. I didn't have any bad feelings towards him.

Until he opened his cake hole about Sam.

"Too bad about First National."

I just nodded as I took a drink.

Gordon grinned, like he'd been given the go-ahead. "Looks like the Winchester luck's gone crappy, huh?"

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

Gordon shrugged. "Sam's back. That's what I mean. Kid's a jinx. He got his girl killed, right?"

For once in my damn life I couldn't think of a thing to say.

"Sam doesn't belong in this life. Never did. Don't blame you for this, though. Your Dad's weak. Getting old. He's lost a step, is all."

I tossed the beer bottle aside. Putting my fist into Gordie's face was mighty satisfying.

When I told Dad what Gordon said about him and Sam...well, let me put it this way, if Gordon's nose wasn't broken before, it was after Dad got through with him.

That jackass Kubrick pulled a gun on us. It was time to leave, so we did.

Bobby's place was two states away. I wasn't sure we'd be welcome there. Well, I wasn't sure Dad would be welcome there. Last time Bobby threatened to fill Dad's hide with buckshot.

Dad drove this time. He didn't stop until we were halfway across Nevada. We ended up in this typically skeezy motel. Dew Drop Inn or something. I remember the flowered wallpaper nearly made me gag. The place was clean enough. The beds were hard and the pillows were flat.

I was outside unloading the duffels when Sam walked up behind me. Soon as I saw that look on his face I could tell the next ten minutes would be craptastic. We were gonna have a chick flick moment.

_Damn._

"Maybe...Maybe I better leave," Sam whispered. He glanced back at the open motel room door like he was afraid Dad would hear.

"What?" I scowled at him. "Are you kiddin' me?" I shouldered my duffel and tossed him his. "You really believe what those sonsabitches said?"

Sam fumbled a little as he caught ithe bag. "You and Dad were doing all right before I came back."

I picked up the duffel with our guns in it. "Listen, I don't ever wanna hear you say that again, you hear me?" Sam stared at me like he really didn't believe me. Right then and there I wanted to drive back and kick Gordon and Kubrick's asses all over again.

"Now if you wanna leave, then okay." I shrugged. "Well hell, I'm lying. It's not okay. But if that's what you want, we'll set you up. You can go back to Stanford if you want."

Sam flinched. He shook his head. "I – I can't..."

My right hand curled up into a fist. "What did Gordon say to you?" I didn't mean to bark at Sam, but I did. "Did he say anything to you about what happened at Stanford?"

"Nothing. He didn't say anything." Sam stared at the ground.

"Then what?"

"It's about Jess...I...I couldn't..."

"You think Jess died because of you? Why?"

"I...I dreamed about it."

"What?"

"I dreamed about her dying." Sam stared at me, and I nearly lost it then. He looked so damn lost and confused. He hated himself just then. I'd never seen that look on his face before, and it scared the hell out of me.

The words tumbled out of him. "A few nights before I dreamed it. I dreamed it, Dean. I could smell her burning and it was so damn real, and I dreamed it and I didn't tell her, I couldn't tell her..." Sam dropped his eyes and stared down at his feet.

"Listen." I stepped right into his personal space. Sam didn't react until I reached up and cupped his face with both hands. "You listen to me, Sam." I put the growl in my voice, and that did the trick. He looked right at me then.

"Even if you did dream it, even if you didn't tell her about it, that's not your fault. None of that is your fault."

That raw, wounded look on Sam's face didn't change. "What if it is? What if -"

"It isn't. It's not. You gotta believe that, Sam. You gotta. Shit happens in this life, dude. You know that. Shit happens." All of a sudden I could smell the burning again, and I couldn't tell if it was Jess or Mom. I couldn't tell Sam that I saw Mom on the ceiling above his crib that night. Wasn't gonna lay that on him. That might be all the proof he needed that something was wrong with him. That's my load. I'll carry it.

"You listen to me," and I sounded all fierce and rough like if he didn't believe me I was gonna kick his ass right then and there. "You're _not_ a jinx. There's nothing wrong with you. You didn't kill Jess. You'd never hurt her. You loved her, right?"

Sam nodded.

"Okay then. Gordon and Kubrick are jackasses. They run their damn mouths and then they wonder why they get their asses kicked." We stared at each other for so long it seemed awkward at first, but I couldn't turn away from him. I wouldn't.

"Nothing bad is gonna happen to me and Dad while you're around. You've got our backs, and we've got yours. All right?"

Sam grinned a little. "Okay. Uh...Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I have my face back?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

We saw what happened two days later on the evening news. One day after we left Gordon's place a heavily armed federal task force surrounded the farmhouse. All hell broke loose.

Kubrick and Gordon were killed. After what they said about Sam? If I said I really cared about what happened to them, I'd be lying. I fooled myself into thinking they got careless and sloppy. Didn't connect the dots until later. We crossed over into Utah, then Colorado, Nebraska, Iowa and Illinois and Indiana. Dad had cabins and safe houses set up in each state. We got away clean.

At least, that's what we were meant to think.

Two weeks later me, Sam and Dad walked into the City Bank of Milwaukee. It was time to play dress up. We wore blue uniforms and carried official looking IDs that said we were employees of Federated Alarm Company. Dad took the lead, and he was smooth as always. This was just a routine inspection of the surveillance system. The manager fell for it, and so did the security guard who showed us around.

Nice dude. He said "Okey Dokey."

We ended up in the surveillance room, and right then and there I knew exactly how a fox in a henhouse has to feel. This had to be the best recon we'd ever done. We'd get the layout of the place, come back in a day or so with masks and guns and clean the place out. Dad said we were headed to Mexico after that. I could almost taste the tequila just then.

Twenty minutes later I forgot all about that. Mexico seemed as far away as the moon.

Twenty minutes. That's all the time it took for everything to go straight to hell.

We were _so_ screwed.


	17. Public Enemies, Part 3

_**A/N: **_As you've probably guessed by now, I have AU'd the hell out of SPN canon, _Public Enemies_ and the _Nightshifter_ episode. Trapped in the City Bank of Milwaukee, Dean and Sam find out that John's been holding back on a few things.

_**POV:**_ Dean Winchester

* * *

_**Part 3**_

Exactly twenty one minutes after me, Sam and Dad sat down in the surveillance room, I stared at monitor three and watched my brother Sam walk into the bank.

_Sonofabitch._

My mouth dropped open. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I even glanced at Sam to make sure that he was still in the room with me and Dad. He was. The Sam on the screen was dressed in all black. He carried backpack and an M-16 rifle.

I watched myself walk in next. Dad was right behind me, dressed in black, carrying his own M16. Hell, that wasn't right.

Their eyes were white, shiny. I figured that was some freaky-ass camera glare.

Later on I found out how wrong I was.

"What the hell," Dad whispered softly. He was halfway out of his chair when the door to the control room flew open. Right then and there we found ourselves staring down the barrel of an automatic pistol.

The dude who got the drop on us grinned like the cat who swallowed the canary. He was a tall, black, solidly built. He had on a grey suit, and right off the bat I knew he was a fed, from the way he moved, and the way he looked. I felt like a freakin' rank amateur righ then. He hadn't come in through the front door, that was for sure. We would have seen him if he had. So there was a blind spot. That was good to know, but it wasn't doing us any damn good.

"Easy now," Dad said quietly. He put his hands up slowly. Sam and I froze.

The black dude in the suit smiled even wider. "We havin' fun yet, John Boy? Sure we are. All it took was a little burned bitch to get all three of you back together again. Just the way I wanted. Ain't life grand?"

I saw Sam flinch at the way this bastard mentioned Jess. Dad totally ignored that. "You got a name, princess?"

"Now, where are my manners? Damn. I'm usually not this rude, you know?" The gun never wavered as he slipped a hand inside his suit jacket. I really wasn't surprised when he flipped his tin at us. I had a couple of fake FBI IDs myself, but this was the real deal. "My name's Hendrickson. Victor Hendrickson. FBI."

Dad nodded at the monitor screen. "If you're FBI, then you oughta know the bank's being robbed."

"Oh yeah," Hendrickson said. "I know. They've got your moves, don't they?" The one who looked like me made everyone lie down on the floor, while notSam and notDad filled their duffels with money.

"It's all for you and your boys." Hendrickson chuckled like we were all old friends or something. He slipped his wallet back inside his pocket, stared at Dad and shook his head. "What? You really don't remember me? After all we meant to each other? I'm crushed. Bet Mary remembers me. She'd tell you, if you could ask her. I hear she's screaming her lungs out in Hell. Murder victims usually go the other way, but they made an exception in her case."

Dad's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What?"

"Now, your boys." Grey Suit grinned at me. That look made my skin crawl. "Ol' Deanno looks absolutely edible. He's a handful, but I bet I could break him soon enough. Train him to heel, make him wear a collar. I've always had a weakness for half-wild strays."

"Just try it, you sonofabitch," I snarled. Dad flicked me a sideways glance telling him to shut my cakehole, so I did.

"Sammy? Well, he was mine before he ever was just a twinkle in those hazel eyes of yours. Mary drove a hard bargain, but it was worth it, Johnny. You'll see." He stared at Dad again. "Oh, wait. I forgot. I'm wearing a different meatsuit. No wonder you don't remember me."

His eyes turned dirty yellow. "There now. That's better. This ringing any bells for you?"

Dad froze.

My heart dropped down to my stomach. Fuck. I'd seen those eyes before, all right. The night my mom died.

Hendrickson grinned at me. "I remember you, little boy. You saw me, isn't that right? That night, standing next to Sammy's crib?" I couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

"Poor widdle Deannie. Thought I was your Daddy." The word sounded like a cuss word coming out of his mouth.

My right hand curled up into a fist. "You sonofabitch. You killed my mom-"

"That's right. I did. Killed sweet little Jess, too."

Sam's eyes widened. Before I knew it he was out of his chair.

He never laid a hand on Hendrickson. I remember that. I remember because Hendrickson looked at him hard and Sam went flying backwards into the rear wall.

Dad never moved. I went over to Sam. He rolled over and groaned as he clutched his left arm. It was broken.

Hendrickson stared hard at Dad then he grinned again, like he'd finally figured something out that he really liked. "Wait a minute. You didn't tell them, did you? Holding out on the kiddies, huh, John?" Dad didn't say a word, and right about then I felt my stomach do a slow greasy flip flop. I glanced at Sam and I could hear the wheels turning in the kid's head.

This was freaky shit, stuff we'd never dealt with before. Never. Inside my head I kept hearing myself say over and over again, _Dad knew? He knew about Mom? Knew what?_

"He didn't tell you," Hendrickson laughed. "He never told you about me, and you wanna know why? Because I'm his worst nightmare. Because if you came after me, you'd all die and he knows it. Don't you, John? Don't you?"

Dad didn't answer. I felt like smacking him in the face.

"Life is good, isn't it? Got myself a secure, good paying government job. They pay me to hunt you boys down. We're gonna have some fun." Hendrickson holstered his gun.

And then the bastard hurt Dad.

Dad spun halfway around as something I couldn't see struck him on the left side of his face. Clawmarks appeared up the right side of his head.

There was a lot of stayed upright a moment longer. He stared at me and Sam, and then he hit the floor.

I wanted to get up. Tried to. I couldn't move. Felt like something heavy was pressing down on my body. I couldn't move my arms or legs.

Hendrickson grinned. "Tell you what. I like you boys. I really do. Don't care much for Papa. Bet I'm not the only person who feels that way, huh?"

"I'll kill you. You fuckin' hear me? First chance I get, you sonofabitch."

"I know you will. You'll try." Hendrickson quirked an eyebrow at me. "You got a lot of good qualities, Dean. And you look just like your Mom. I appreciate that. I really do. That's something I can use. Right now we're gonna play a little game, boys. It's called catch and release. Your pretty little faces are on camera now. You'll be on the news, in the papers from now on."

I couldn't help it, I glanced over at the monitors, and the fake Winchesters were herding the civilians into the vault. They weren't wearing masks.

That was the whole damn point.

"I figure you have seven minutes before the local cops show up. Ten at the most. Plenty of time for you to gather up your brother and your dad and get the hell out of here. I'll see you again. You can count on that." The pressure on my body disappeared. I could move again.

I checked Dad's vitals. He was pale, shocky. He stared at me and didn't seem to now who I was. He leaned into me as I stood him up. Sam stood up holding his arm to his side. Hendrickson backed up, out of the doorway, but he didn't have to worry about any of us trying something.

Dad leaned against me as I walked. If I stepped away he'd faceplant into the floor. Sammy followed me out, and I told him with a glance not to try anything. I didn't relax until I saw him nod back at me.

"Catch and release, Deanno," Hendrickson whispered. He wasn't anywhere near me, but I swear I could feel his hot breath in my ear. It stank like burnt matches. "Catch and release. You run on now, boy. Take care of your family, and be sure you ask Daddy about me and your Momma. And if he won't tell you, well then, you come see me. We'll talk about it. My door is always open."

"Fuck you," I snarled as we limped past.

"Maybe later, kiddo."

We shagged ass outta there. Just like the sonofabitch knew we would.

* * *

We holed up in a cabin half a state away. I tended to Dad and Sam as best I could, and then I took the back roads to a farmhouse Dad and I used while Sam was away at school.

Dad hasn't spoken a word since we left the bank.

That yellow eyed bastard did something to his head, I know it. Dad doesn't know who Sam and I are. He just sits there, staring. We take turns feeding him, caring for him. We stayed at the farmhouse for two weeks.

Our faces were all over the news. America's Most Wanted, and we even made the FBI Ten Most Wanted list. We couldn't use our usual places to hole up in. I tended to Dad and Sam myself. We were too hot. Nobody would touch us with a ten foot pole, people who'd been friendly towards us suddenly turned cold. Hendrickson kept his word about all that, and more. This is going to get worse. I know it is. Dad won't tell us about Mom. He can't.

That was the whole point, too.

_"Come see me, Dean. We'll talk about this."_

He, it whatever Hendrickson is, knows I'll come after him. And if I come, then Sam will come too. Sonofabitch knows _that_ too.

A week later we ended up at Bobby's place. He took us in, even though the last time he saw Dad he threatened to fill his ass full of buckshot. Sam and I talked about it among ourselves, and then we talked to Bobby. Turns out he's been hunting weird stuff like this for years. He told us that Hendrickson was ridden by a demon. Bobby said he'd never heard of a yellow-eyed one. Said they usually have black eyes.

I didn't know about Bobby's wife.

Bobby said Dad talked to him about what happened to Mom that night. Said that Dad told him he didn't want to lose us, so the plan was after he dropped us off in Mexico after this one last big job, Dad was going to come back to the States and hunt Ol' Yeller down himself. Bobby said Dad felt he couldn't make the moves he needed to with us in the line of fire.

Bullshit. Me and Sam would follow Dad to hell and back, but maybe that's the point too. We're stronger as a family. He was wrong, but I get how he felt.

Two weeks after that Bobby drove to Lawrence, Kansas. He came back four days later, and he wasn't alone.

Her name was Missouri, and she told us the truth.

* * *

A bonus follows: The Winchester brothers meet Paul the alien. It doesn't end well.


	18. Paul

_**A/N**_: _Paul_ comes out on March 18th. It's an alien/fish out of water/road trip flick that looks pretty good. If you're not familiar with it head on over to Yahoo Movies and check out the trailer.

**Summary:** If Paul the alien ever met the Winchesters, it would be a _very_ short movie.

* * *

"Uh…Dean?"

"What?"

"Paul's dead. He's dead -"

"As a doornail. Yeah, I know."

"Yuh…yuh killed him?"

"Yep. Sure did. Here, get the salt and the lighter fluid out of my baby's trunk for me, will ya? Time for a barbeque."

"Why'd you kill him? I thought you liked him!"

"Well, I kinda did, but-"

"But what?"

"He brought that bird back to life, and then he ate it. That was so damn wrong on so many levels. He can't eat dead fried chicken like the rest of us?"

"Uh -"

"First it's birds. Next thing you know it'll be rabbits. Then newborn babies. Dude, look, I know you had your heart set on helping the little fella, but the way he ate sounds like some demonic bullcrap to me. No way in hell I was gonna sleep in the same room with him. Probably wake up in the middle of the night with him probin' us or somethin'. And not in a good way, either."

"Dean!"

"Besides, those big eyes of his gave me the creeps."

"ET had big eyes. Would you have ganked him?"

"ET? Hell no. He was all right. Any time an alien lets a little girl dress 'im up in a summer frock and a straw hat, I'd say the chances of said alien going medieval on your ass is probably slim to none. He was playin' tea and crumpets with her, for God's sake!"

"Okay. I guess you're right."

"Damn right I am. Come on, let's get this cleaned up. We gotta shag ass outta here so we can be in Cali on the 11th . Those meteors are supposed to land near Venice Beach, remember? I wanna see that. Chicks, sand, and sun. Dude, what's not to like? We'll take a break, enjoy ourselves."

Unfortunately, it was not to be.

* * *

Next? The Winchesters go on an alien killing spree of biblical proportions during _Battle: Los Angeles._ Papa Winchester would be proud.


	19. Battle: Los Angeles

**_A/N: _**I saw _Battle: Los Angeles_.

I liked it. A lot.

Maybe it's because I'm a military brat, but I had no problem with the focus being on the Marines. As a matter of fact, Battle reminded me a lot of _Aliens_. Just imagine that before the Colonial Marines showed up on planet LV-426 with Ellen Ripley, James Cameron decided to give you some background on each squad member. Battle also reminded me of _Black Hawk Down_, too. If you hate action movies, do yourself a favor and stay away from this one. Rent a chick flick movie like _Eat Pray Love_ or something.

Ugh. I hate chick flick movies.

I enjoyed Aaron Eckhart's performance, and I thought the entire cast was perfect. Some reviewers claimed that Michelle Rodgriquez didn't have much to do. Well, we obviously didn't see the same movie. Michelle kicked much alien ass. The first line of the chapter is taken from _Battle._ The rest is pure Dean.

I've included some of the characters, but I'm not going to give away the story here. Don't want to spoil anybody. Also, in _Battle: LA_ none of the aliens are tinted red. I did that to give Sam and Dean something focus on. And oh yeah, there's character death in this one.

RIP, 1967 black Chevy Impala.

Okay, here we go…

* * *

Retreat? Hell, we just got here.

If anyone finds Dad's journal, if we don't make it, I want people to know that we went down swinging.

Sam keeps saying that none of this is my fault, that if he didn't want to come back to Cali he would have pulled a major bitchface about it. I know he's just saying that. We're here because I wanted to see those stupid friggin' meteors land in the stupid friggin' ocean. We should have gone to Bobby's place. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

It's quiet now. We're holed up in this storefront. Got the perimeter fence rigged with tripwires and grenades so if anything fugly tries to sneak in we'll know it. I'm sitting here writing in Dad's journal. Sam's got first watch. Tried to talk him out of it, but you know how stubborn he is. That German shepherd dog we found this morning is sitting here next to me with his head on my knee.

His name's Glenn. At least, that's the name on his tag. Who the hell names a dog Glenn any damn way? He's a good dog, but I decided to name him Jack, after my man Jack Nicholson. Jack's gonna have to toughen up if he's going to hang with me and Sam. This thing's not over yet.

At least Dad's journal didn't burn. Everything else we have did.

Okay, Winchester. From the beginning. March 11th. Yeah, that was a massive clusterfuck. We were on the beach with the rest of the looky loos.

Those meteors hit the water, and right then and there I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up. They were coming in too slow. Hell, I don't know much about space, but even I knew that was wrong. Everybody was standing there cheering like it was fourth of july fireworks.

Sam frowned. "Dean?"

I shook my head and took a step back.. The hair at the back of my neck stood up, hard and painful.

We were screwed. All of us were, I could feel it. I felt naked all of a sudden. I mean, I even left my Colt 1911 back in the car. Sam wasn't packing either. Hell, I didn't have my knife with me, either.

Then those shadows came out of the water and the fireworks really began.

People ran.

We did too. I don't feel good about it. We were outgunned. Outclassed. We ran, and I hated doing that. Dad taught us never to go in blind, and we were as blind as bats that morning. Bright, sunny day, lots of ladies around in various stages of undress. I figured we'd stand there and watch the show. Like I said before, chicks, sun and surf. Figured nothing could go wrong.

I figured wrong.

Whatever the hell those things were firing hit the ground all around us. Sam and I helped as many people as we could, but we couldn't help or save everybody. Some people were blown to bits when those charges hit them. I remember the shells zigzagging in the air. The things that came out of the water were seven feet tall. They were skinny, with these big damn heads, flesh and metal and their guns were attached to their arms. Some of them were red. First thing I thought of was demons, but I'd never seen a demon that looked like that before, not even when I was down in Hell with Alastair.

Couldn't drive out of the parking lot. Some nondriving SOB boxed us in pretty good. I was cursing by the time I got my girl's trunk open, started tossing stuff in I thought we'd need into the duffels. Sam's shotgun, mine, knives, spare ammo, you name it. I slipped my Colt into my back waistband.

That bad feeling stayed with me.

Since the fugs were going after the humans, I hoped they'd leave my car alone. We could double back, get her out later on.

Well, that's what I hoped, anyway. Didn't turn out that way.

I took a quick glance around the corner of the open trunk and saw red.

_Shit. _

_Shit!_

"Dean!" Sam yelled at me as he grabbed his duffel. "Damn it, come on!"

Second time today I ran like a friggin' rabbit. Sam dug his fingers into my arm and pulled hard, and I still didn't want to move. There was fire and smoke all around us, gas tanks exploding, incoming everywhere. I turned around just in time to see one of those things hit my baby. Direct hit, right in the passenger side door panel. The impact knocked her up into the air.

I heard someone yelling out "NO!" over and over again.

Something hard slammed into me from the side. I realized I was the one yelling, and then everything went black.

I woke up hours later. We were in this apartment building, and I could hear gunfire and explosions in the streets around us. We had our two duffels, and that was it.

My baby was gone. Those bastards killed her. My fault. This was all my fucking fault…

What I was thinking must have shown on my face, because Sam turned from the window and gave me the worst bitchface I've ever seen. "Don't start, okay? It's not your fault."

I laughed, even though there was nothing damn funny about this. "The Impala's gone. We're stuck here. So whose fault is it, Doctor Phil?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's nobody's. You don't own this one, Dean. It's not your weight."

Dumb kid's said that a lot this past week. Not gonna argue with him. I know this is mine. All mine.

We hit the streets an hour later. We couldn't hide from this. It was too damn big.

* * *

I think we've been out here a week, maybe two. I'm not sure. These alien critters aren't all red like the ones that killed my baby, but they're all fugly. So they all need to die.

Sammy and I make sure that they do.

Damn bastards have aircraft, too. Doesn't seem fair in a fight. Sam figured out that they zero in on radio frequencies. We tested that theory one day at a construction site. I found some explosive charges in a shed.

I like loud noises and things that go boom. I did mention that, right?

Blowing up stuff was pretty sweet, and we saved people too. There were a lot of civilians that got left behind. We got 'em out, got 'em clear, and then Sam and I went back in.

We picked up weapons and ammo where we found them. Got a shitload of stuff from this abandoned police station.

Some of it we find on dead Marines in the street.

I always think of Dad, then, what he would think about that. I know what he'd say: "Do what you have to, son. Look after your brother, and look after yourself," so I do. I whisper that I'm sorry, and I close their eyes when I can. We don't have time to bury them, and I feel bad about that.

We finally met some live Marines one day. Red's not my favorite color, but those fugs showed up too.

There were civilians out there, a woman and her two kids. I went to get them while Sam laid down some pretty heavy cover fire. I still can't remember exactly what happened next. My M16 was knocked out of my hand, and I found myself staring at a fugly.

A red fugly.

The red ones killed my girl.

Apparently this ET wannabe mixed it up with somebody before. He'd lost that fight, and he also lost most of his left gun arm. Bad for him. Good for me.

I snarled at him. I remember the weight of my Bowie knife in my hand. I charged forward and I still don't know how I was able to knock him down. I straddled him, pinned him down, and I went to work with the knife. Bits of slime and bone fragments flew up and hit me in the face. I didn't care. Next thing I knew the thing's chest was nothing but gooey brown mush. I could feel it dripping down my face but I didn't give a fuck. I was smiling too. I was happy.

I finally came back to myself. When I looked up I saw this reporter and his camera man standing there staring. Dude had his camera aimed right at me, but I didn't care.

I saw Sam.

And I saw Sam wasn't alone. There were seven Marines standing around him, and everybody was staring at me.

They finally lowered their guns.

I got the feeling the one closest to me was in charge. He quirked an eyebrow at me. "That seemed kind of personal, John Wayne."

I stood up slowly. I took deep breaths and I had a death grip on my Bowie. Couldn't feel my hand anymore, but it was okay. It was all right. I looked down at ET and smirked. One less fug in the world.

"Yes sir, it was extremely personal. Sonsabitches killed my car."

* * *

We had company that night. There's safety in numbers, no doubt about it. One of the soldiers was a woman. I think her name was Santos. She was an Airman, and hell, she was cute, even in camos and with mud smeared on her face. Handled that assault rifle like she was born with it. I winked at her and she rolled her eyes at me.

That's okay. I think I'm in love.

Staff Sergeant Nantz reminded me of Dad. Didn't look like him, but I recognize a Devil Dog when I see one.

"You boys ex-military?" he asked me.

"No sir. Our Dad trained us."

"Marine?"

I nodded. "Corporal. 'Nam."

"What company?"

"Echo-2-1."

"Been out here long?"

"Couple of weeks."

"Why didn't you head for the FOB?"

I shrugged like it didn't really matter. "My Dad said there aren't any promises in combat, but I promised these things I'd give 'em a world of hurt."

"You did, huh?" The expression on Nantz' face softened then. "That what your Dad said, huh?"

"Yes sir. He did."

"What's his name, son? What's yours?"

Sam flicked a look at me like he thought I was saying too much.

_Dude, it's okay._

Hell, the world was pretty much FUBAR all around us. Names didn't matter.

And besides, I'm damn proud of my dad.

"His name is John Winchester. My name's Dean. This is my brother, Sam."

"Winchester, huh? Like the rifle?"

"Damn right."

* * *

We went our separate ways the next morning. Before they left Nantz told me that they'd heard of me and Sam back at the FOB. Thought we were some kind of urban legend, until more and more civilians showed up and talked us up.

The Marines gave us names. I'm the "Grim Reaper." Sam? They call him "Einstein."

Samantha likes it. I can tell.

* * *

These sonsabitches started on the coastlines. I'm hoping, I'm praying that Bobby and Ellen and Jo are okay. Maybe Bobby saw that tape. I can see him sitting there staring at the screen, shaking his head. "Idjit."

I'd give anything to hear him say that again. Maybe I will, after this is all over.

Sam heard a rumor that these fugs came here for the water. I don't know how true that is. I'll tell ya one thing, though: water doesn't hurt 'em like it did in that Mel Gibson movie, _Signs_. Wish it did.

That's okay, though.

Regular ammo works just fine.

* * *

We'll move out in the morning. One red fug down, but the way I remember there was more. I got a promise to keep to them, and the rest of them, too. A world of hurt, remember? I don't know if this is gonna end bloody. It probably will, but that's a promise I intend to keep.

We got work to do.

* * *

**_A/N_** – FOB: Forward Operating Base.

"There are no promises in combat." Spoken by Staff Sgt Nantz in _Battle__: __Los Angeles_. Glenn the dog makes a cameo in the movie. I'd like to think he made it out alive.


	20. Green Lantern

_**A/N:**_ It's the return of The Winchester Traveling Picture Show. And I have AU'd Green Lantern.

**POV:** Sam Winchester

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Supernatural_ or _Green Lantern_. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

_**Summary:**_ Sam Winchester has extreme doubts about fighting the war against the Leviathans, even after he and Dean have been Chosen. Up now: Green Lantern

* * *

**_In brightest day, in blackest night..._**

I wish I could say writing this out makes me feel better. It doesn't. I don't know why I even started journaling again. Keeps me busy.

For whatever _that's_ worth.

I think about Castiel sometimes. After Bobby died I blamed him. Castiel's intentions were good, but you know that's what the road to hell is paved with.

How the Leviathan got out doesn't matter anymore. They're here. Each day there are more of them. They eat people. They're impossible to kill. Their leader is Dick Roman. He used to be human, but he's still a billionaire. One of the 50 most powerful men in America.

Way above our pay grade.

Dean looks tired. He puts on that macho man mask of his, goes through the motions, but I can tell he's worn down to the bone.

He shuts me out, tells me that he's fine. I know he's not. He drinks more. Sometimes I think that if it weren't for me, he'd just give up.

I'm not doing so good myself. I hallucinate about hell all the time now. I feel the flames licking at my skin. Sometimes I hear Michael and Lucifer laugh as they tear me limb from limb.

Sometimes I think I deserve all that, and more.

O0o

I don't know where to begin with this. I thought our lives were weird before. I didn't know weird.

Three days after we buried Bobby's ashes back in Sioux Falls, Dean and I sat on the hood of the Impala and watched the stars come out. We've done the same thing ever since we were kids, but this time seemed different.

Before the stars shone brighter, and I used to wonder what was up there. Not anymore. The world seemed darker. Empty.

At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. There was a shooting star directly overhead. I blinked. It looked funny.

It glowed green.

Must have been a trick of the light.

I didn't make a wish. Neither did Dean. He just stared dully at it.

Neither one of us moved, not even when the star changed direction and headed straight down for us.

I didn't move. Didn't try to run. It was too late. Too late to run, and where the hell would we hide anyway?

The night sky lit up all around us, bright green, and I remember thinking that if I had to go, then I'd rather die with Dean.

O0o

What happened to us was "unprecedented." Yeah, we hear that a lot nowadays.

The ring chose humans. Dean and I were the first humans in the Green Lantern Corps. That was unprecedented.

The ring split in two. Another first.

The uniforms were emerald green. Skin-tight and sparkly. We looked like refugees from one of those comic books Dean loved as a kid.

We had masks too.

I stared down at the ring on my finger. I knew all the stats of the Corps, how many, where, the names of all the planets in the systems, everything. Dean and I are law enforcement officers now. The only thing I do know is that God or whoever's in charge now has lost their minds.

After he got over the initial shock Dean started flexing and posing in front of the mirrored walls. He's always been more comfortable with his body than I've ever been. I stood beside him staring at myself in the mirror. My shoulders slumped. I felt like a big lump.

"Dude." Dean poked me with his elbow. He stared at my face. "Your eyes are light blue."

"Huh. So are yours."

"Well, well," this deep voice growled at us from behind. "Two loser humans for the price of one."

Killiwog. He was our Combat Training Officer.

Reminded me of Dad.

We took a pounding at first. Killiwog manifested and threw boulders the size of dump trucks at us. At one point Dean went toe to toe with him, trading punches.

That lasted for about six seconds.

Weird thing was, getting our asses kicked felt like one of those Marine lectures Dad used to give us.

The rings were powered by our will.

We weren't Superman. Bullets wouldn't bounce off unless we shielded ourselves.

We could get hurt. Pain is always a damn good teacher, and one thing you can say about my family, we're damn quick learners.

After the initial shock wore off, Dean got that look in his eyes.

He wanted to kill something. And I wasn't feeling too sociable myself.

Dean and I fought back together. Killiwog hit the ground hard and stayed there.

Another first.

We didn't stay on Oa very long. I think they were all afraid of us. Thing was, the only way back to earth was through space. Which meant we had to fly.

Dean wasn't too thrilled with that part.

O0o

When we got back we holed up in one of Bobby's cabins. My time sense was out of whack. I thought we'd been gone overnight.

I thought wrong. We'd been gone for a week.

The ring was a heavy weight on my finger, so I took it off. My costume changed back into my blue jeans, work boots and my blue and red plaid shirt. I went online. Checked on Dick Roman. We already knew everything there was to know about the bastard. I was hoping that maybe things had changed while we were gone. Maybe he'd dropped dead or something.

No such luck.

He was even more popular than ever. The number of websites dedicated to him had doubled in the last five days.

And now there was talk of him running for President.

The more I saw, the worse I felt.

Lucifer laughed silently. _I think you fellas bit off more than you could chew, Sam boy._

The Leviathans have vast numbers and Dick Roman's money and the media behind them.

We've got our will and our rings.

And I don't know if that'll be enough.

I don't trust myself. I had power before, and I screwed it up. I did it once before, and I'll probably do it again.

I can still remember the look on that nurse's face. The one that was possessed by one of Lillith's demons.

The nurse I drank and left in the trunk of Ruby's car.

I was having trouble breathing. I was trapped, and none of this was fair. Why me?

I was the last person in Creation to play hero, and now it looked like I'd dragged Dean down with me.

While I surfed the net Dean sat on the couch and played with his ring.

"Ring. Finger. Ring. Finger." He kept taking the ring off. His costume disappeared and his regular clothes appeared. He'd put the ring back on and his costume would re-appear.

Normally that would have been just annoying. For some reason just the fact that Dean was in the same room with me _really_ pissed me off.

I glared at him. "Dude."

"What?"

"Do you mind?"

"What's got your panties all in a bunch, Samantha?"

"I'm trying to focus here." I was nervous. I was mad. There was nobody else around, so I took it out on him. "This isn't a game, Dean."

"Damn right it isn't. I'm outta here."

"You can't leave!"

"Oh yeah? Watch me." Dean stood up. He slammed the door really hard behind him on his way out.

Lucifer laughed.

I turned towards the arm chair in the corner. Lucifer was there, all right, just as I remembered him, wearing Nick's body, laughing, his clothes streaked with ash and soot, his eyes bright with orange hellfire.

"It's always a pleasure watching you boys, Sam. Really entertaining. I don't need cable. All I need is you."

"Shut up."

"Aw, don't be like that. I'm on your side, remember?"

I sat there staring at the laptop, and he never stopped talking about how the Leviathans were going to kill everything on earth no matter what Dean and I did.

"You're going to die screaming. And so is your precious big brother. Those big bad Leviathan are gonna gobble you two up, bit by bit…"

I tried to pretend I didn't listen, but I heard every word.

O0o

An hour later I'd had enough, so I went up out on the porch. I leaned against the railing and stared up at the stars, and it wasn't the same. Nothing would ever be the same.

Dean came back.

I watched him fly in over the treetops. He wobbled a little in mid-air. I tried not to grin. The last time Dean and I took a normal commercial flight he freaked out nearly the whole time. This time he seemed to have a handle on it. At least he wasn't screaming.

He hovered right in front of me like some big green firefly. "Is it safe?"

"Yeah."

Dean landed next to me. His mask vanished and his pale blue eyes faded back to moss green. He leaned against the railing and he didn't say anything.

I wanted to ask him how he really felt, and then I realized I didn't have to. Dean looked more relaxed than I've ever seen him look in the past few months. Having the ring suited him. I saw that now.

Dean looked down at my hand and frowned. "Sam? Where's your ring?"

I felt the muscles of my face stretch into this stiff, unnatural smile. I wanted to say that I was fine, everything was _fine_. No worries. No problem.

_Tell him, Sammy boy…_

Instead the words came out of my mouth in a rush: "I took it off doesn't matter if I wear it or not nothing we do matters anymore they're gonna kill us Dean the Leviathans are going to eat us alive no matter what we are sooo screwed."

Dean blinked at me. "Okay. This isn't awkward at all."

_Damn. _

Inside my head Lucifer was laughing his ass off.

"So what do you want me to say, Sammy?" Dean asked slowly. "Do you want me to tell you that everything will be okay?"

_He's going to lie to you, Sam,_ Lucifer hissed. _He's done nothing but lie to you the whole time-_

Dean didn't even wait for me to answer.

"I wish I could tell you that. I do. But that's a lie, Sam. You know that's a lie." Dean turned and looked at me. "Look, I don't know why we were chosen for this. I don't even know how this is gonna end. Only thing I do know is that now we have more of a chance now than we did before."

Dean curled his right hand up into a fist. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but his ring responded with a flare of green light. "You've got power again. And you're scared you'll lose your humanity. I get it. I do. Our track record for the last three years sucks."

"_Our_ track record?"

"Sure." I tortured thousands of souls down in hell and jumpstarted the Apocalypse, remember? You went on a rampage topside with Ruby the demon skank and let Lucy out." Dean gave me this doubtful look, as though it bothered him I'd forgotten in the first place.

Something bright and glowing zipped through the air past my left ear.

My ring.

It slowed down and circled us.

I turned to Dean. "This your doing?"

He shook his head. "Nope. I think Ringo's lonely for ya."

My ring continued to orbit around us in slow, lazy circles.

"Being human's not about _what_ you are. It's about _who_ you are. We're stronger together. No matter what."

_That pretty little speech of Dean's isn't going to make a dime's bit of difference, Sammy boy,_ Lucifer whispered in my ear. He faded in between me and Dean. Dean didn't notice.

I could feel the warmth, smell the sulfur in his breath. _You're screwed. Both of you are. Now and forever. Amen._

Dean nodded towards the far horizon. "What's it gonna be, Sam? This screwed up world's not gonna save itself."

For some weird reason I started thinking about when we were kids. I saw us playing in the backseat of the Impala with those dumb plastic green soldiers. Later, when I got older, Dad and I were always at each others' throats, and Dean was always there. After Jess died, and Dean and I were on the road, I had those visions so bad everything turned yellow and I thought my head was going to explode. If it had, that would have been a mercy. I wanted to curl up in a corner and die. I figured Dean would ditch me. I expected him to.

He never did. He didn't back then, and I could see that he wasn't going to now.

I put my right hand up, extended my ring finger. The ring…_my_ ring…slid onto my finger like it belonged there. It felt light as a feather.

My costume came back, minus the mask.

Lucifer's eyes widened in shock. His skin bulged outwards, and then he burst apart, like a dandelion blossom in a high wind.

I felt good. I mean really, genuinely good. Hadn't felt this way in a long time.

"So…" Dean said mildly. "We're cops now, right?"

The way he said it was so casual, like it really wasn't a big deal, even though we both knew it _was_ a big damn deal.

"I think the proper term is galactic peacekeepers."

"Damn." Dean scowled. "There goes my hunter cred." His face brightened considerably. "Well, college boy, how do you want to play this?"

"We give 'em hell."

"That's my boy."

O0o

We had a visitor when we charged up the rings.

_In brightest day_

_In blackest night_

Bobby faded in before us, faint and shimmering. He looked so damn proud of us.

_No evil shall escape our sight. _

_Let those who worship evil's might_

_Beware our power, Green Lantern's light!_

The inside of my nose prickled.

Dean sniffed. "Dusty in here," he mumbled.

I wiped at the corner of my eye. "Yeah. Dust."

Bobby rolled his eyes and grunted. "Idjits."

Then he faded out completely.

O0o

After I finish this entry we'll hide the power battery in a safe, shielded place, along with Dad's journal and our laptop. Can't say where.

So, Leviathans can't be killed? I've got a few ideas about that. Dean does too. We're not going in blind, but we're going to play this one by ear. Dick Roman's factory, the place where he shot Bobby, is as good a place as any to start.

We've got work to do.

-30-

Up next? Thor. To be posted tomorrow.


	21. Thor

**_Summary:_** What if Sam and Dean Winchester found Thor's hammer out in the desert?

* * *

Sam feels the vibration in the air, and from the way Dean's eyes narrow he knows Dean feels it too. They're way out in the middle of Nowhere, the nearest dusty little Bumfuck town miles past the horizon, according to the map. The sky overhead darkens, and there's a streak of lightning overhead, arcing down to earth. Impact is a mile away, give or take.

Sam's not surprised when Dean makes a u turn on the highway.

Sometimes they find hunts, sometimes the hunts find them.

O0o

"Uh, Dean?" Sam's surprised he sounds calm. He's actually freaked out as he stares intently at whatever-the-hell-this-is. "What the hell is THAT?"

Dean scowls as he circles the object like a wolf cautiously sizing up something unfamiliar. "Looks like a hammer."

"A hammer?"

"Yep."

The head of the hammer is embedded in the top of a large jagged rock four feet tall. The whole thing sits in the middle of a crater about ten feet in diameter. The broad sides of the hammer head are inscribed with symbols that look Celtic, but Sam's not exactly sure. The metal is silvery grey. The handle is wrapped in brown leather, and there's even a strap. Whatever the hell this is, it's sleek, solid, and a pretty impressive special effect. Industrial Light and Magic, maybe. Digital Domain. Spielberg, or that Cameron dude.

Dean steps forward, puts his right hand around the leather wrapped handle and pulls.

The hammer comes free. The sky overhead darkens, and the wind picks up. Thunder shakes the ground as dark clouds slide in overhead.

Dean freezes. So does Sam. What the hell is this? The air vibrates as thunder rolls again, but the brothers realize something's not right.

The thunder sounds like a voice.

It's a whisper. Low and deep, inside both their heads. It's the softest sound they've ever heard, and it's the loudest. The voice is whiskey smooth, deep, rumbling. Thunder overhead echoes the words.

_Whosoever wields this hammer... _

Dean stares wide eyed at the hammer in his hand. He looks honestly, totally scared.

_…if he be worthy… _

Dark clouds detach from the dark wall cloud above. They descend in the blink of an eye, swirling around Dean, brushing up against him, and what looks like pieces of silvery black metal attach themselves to his skin, over his clothing.

_…shall possess the power of-_

"D-Dean?" Sam stammers.

The clouds vanish.

Dean stares down at himself. Instead of battered brown leather and faded blue jeans he sees silvery black armor, sleek, functional, totally unlike anything he's ever seen before.

And he also has…a cape.

A damn cape. It's not sleek or cool, like Batman's. It's long, flowing, and blue.

Medium blue.

Dean sounds freaked out. "What…what the hell is THIS? What happened to my leather jacket?"

"Dude," Sam shakes his head slowly. "I got no clue."

Dean stares at the hammer in his hand as though the damn thing is going to sprout lips and start explaining. "What the hell is goin' on here?"

"Dean?"

"H-huh?"

Sam puts out his hand. "Can I-?" Dean stares goggle-eyed at Sam's outstretched hand as though he's never seen it before.

"Dude. The hammer. Can I see it?"

"Oh! Yeah. Yeah." Dean hands it over quickly and somewhat clumsily, as if he can't wait to get rid of the damn thing.

_Whosoever wields this hammer... _

Dark clouds and silver metal shapes flow around Sam's form, with the same result.

Sam's cape is purple. The youngerWinchesterputs one hand on his hip. He holds the hammer with his other hand.

"Sonofabitch." Dean's eyes narrow as he stares at his not-so-little younger brother. "Dude. Are you…are you posing with that thing?"

"What? Me? N-no."

"Yeah, you are."

"This isn't so bad." Sam squares his shoulders a little more. Nice. "Superman wears a cape."

"Superman." Dean crosses his arms over his chest. "Hmph."

"Batman wears a cape."

"That's not really a cape. It's an extension of his body armor," Dean says smugly.

"Sure it is, Deanna."

O0o

Of course, this weirdness does come in handy on the job.

A week later Sam goes toe to toe with a nine foot tall killer demon clown. They've both armored up, and Sam has the hammer this time. He has Dean's six; Dean is busy evacuating a bewildered family of five civilians (Mom, Dad, and three rugrats) out of the area.

Clown-boy misjudges the panicked look on Sam's face when Sam turns to face him. Bozo drops his needle-sharp teeth and claws and lunges at the armored pretty.

Big mistake.

Sam has a death grip on the hammer. The sound of heavy metal against squishy fugly clown flesh is oddly satisfying.

Sam feels a lot better about clowns after that.

Huh. This is better than emo talk therapy.

O00

A week later it's Canton,New Jersey and a ghul with a taste for kids. Dean catches up with the fug just as it backs up against a parked school bus full of screaming kids. The ghul stares at Dean and snarls, wide and toothy. Dean knows it'll start killing before he can reach it. He stands there in his armor feeling stupid and suddenly awkward.

This isn't the way Dad taught them to hunt. But somehow, it feels so good, so right…

The ghul turns towards the bus and makes a grab for the nearest kid.

Dean throws the hammer. It's the only thing he can think of. He's never thrown it before.

Seconds later the ghul drops to the ground. Judging by the massive dent in its forehead, and the general lifelessness, it's pretty obvious that ugly won't be up and moving around. Not soon.

Not ever.

Dean puts his hand up and the hammer returns to him all velvety smooth and easy, like it always belonged there.

_Sonofabitch. _

O0o

Then there was that business about the tornado.

"All I did was twirl it." Sam manages to look wary and sheepish at the same time.

The winds finally die down. Car alarms up and down the street continue to blare loudly as the funnel goes back up into the wall cloud, and the sky gradually lightens. There's not that much property damage, just a few cracked windows and downed tree limbs. Some of the civilians come out to gawk at the damage and the cloudy sky and Sam hastily stashes the hammer underneath his jacket.

"Twirl it," Dean drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He leans forward and brushes loose grass out of his short spiky hair. "Yeah, you're such a girl, Samantha."

O0o

A week later there's a knock on the door at nine in the evening.

Well, actually, it's not a knock. More like pounding, the type of insistent "I know you're in there" pounding that the brothers have come to associate with law enforcement.

The pounding comes minutes after this weird, freaky funnel cloud with lightning flashes lights up the pitch black sky in the distance. The lights flicker. Sam frowns as he looks up from his laptop.

Demons don't usually knock. Or pound.

Dean sidles up to the window, fully expecting to see their favorite Eff Bee Eye Agent, one Victor Hendrickson and a heavily armed SWAT team outside surrounding the building.

There's only one person standing on the step, this big bruiser with long blond hair. He wears jeans, workboots and a tee shirt. He doesn't look like a cop.

Sam quietly slips the hammer into the closet. Dean slides his Colt 1911 into his back waistband, and opens the door a minute later.

"Yeah?"

Blondie stares hard at Sam and Dean, and the brothers glare right back at him.

"I am Thor," he says gravely. Thor stares at the closet. He raises his hand and the hammer smashes the cheap wooden door into kindling as it comes to him.

Blondie's street clothes disappear. The whole thing is just too damned familiar: dark clouds swirl around the dude's form, replaced by sleek silverfish black metal that fits his body perfectly.

His flowing cape is red.

"Crap," Dean whispers.

"You should not have been able to lift Mjolnir." Thor stares at the hammer in his hand. "We will go to Asgard to speak with my father."

O0o

_I won't scream,_ Dean thinks to himself twenty minutes later. _I won't._

He yelps a little when lightning forks the sky overhead and the dark grey funnel cloud comes twisting down right at them. Dean, Sam and Thor rise up at breakneck speed, and the only good thing about that is the trip lasts less than a minute or so.

Heimdall the Gatekeeper views the brothers with guarded amusement.

There's no point of reference for what they see when they step outside Heimdall's guardpost. Thor indicates the sprawling, futuristic cityspace with a majestic wave of his hand.

"Welcome to Asgard, Sam and Dean Winchester.

Sam looks dazed.

Dean is speechless. His smartass trigger's busted, for one of the few times in his life.

O0o

The Great Hall is filled with hundreds of people. A stately old dude with a silver eyepatch sits on the throne. That armor of his looks very familiar.

After a moment's hesitation Sam bows regally.

Dean doesn't. He finally bows (just a little) when Sam pokes him in the side and hisses at him. "Dean!"

"Quit it," Dean rumbles.

"Father, may I present to you Samuel and Dean Winchester. You are in the presence of Odin, the Allfather."

Odin nods in acknowledgement.

Thor bristles at the sight of the tall woman in the metallic green armor. "Hela."

Sam frowns. "Who?"

"She is the Goddess of Death."

"Huh." Dean eyes the giantess warily. "That's not good."

Hela stares at the newcomers and rolls her eyes. "Why am I not surprised, All Father? It's those damn Winchesters again."

"Watch your mouth, skank," Dean snarls.

Odin smiles. The audacity of this human!

Hela shakes her head. "Do you see? They are rude. Disrespectful. They disrupt Creation on a cosmic scale. The eldest brother has cheated Death so many times my reaper brethren call him 'The One Who Always Gets Away'."

Dean smirks.

"And as for the would-be Boy King, Azazel's Chosen One, well, don't get me started on him."

Sam scowls.

"Well," Odin says briskly, "I think we have much to discuss then. There is only one Mjolnir. The fact that it chose the two of you is unusual, to say the least. We shall have to come to a decision about this. You're hunters on Earth. Warriors. You've done many good deeds down there. For now, you are both welcome to the Realm Eternal. Asgard."

O0o

The banquet hall is packed. The brothers have never seen that much food in one place. Fruits, vegetables, roasted meat, deserts of all kinds.

"These are my companions," Thor says gravely as he walks up to the main table.

Jane Foster primly introduces herself. Darcy Lewis stares Sam up and down and she can't stop smiling at him.

Sam blushes a little.

The older dude is Erik Selvig, and Sam and Dean are all too familiar with the wary look Selvig gives them. Dude looks like he wants to call 911 on them, quick, fast and in a hurry.

After he sits down Dean watches the way Thor and Jane act with one another. Jane's definitely a fox, and Dean's a dog, of course, but he's a hound with principles. Jane and Thor are involved, so Dean immediately decides that Jane's off limits.

Sam's shocked.

During the meal Darcy's hand somehow brushes up against Sam's knee.

Twice.

Later on that evening the Winchesters meet the Warriors Three, Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg. Sam sees that mischievous sparkle in Dean's eyes.

Sam shudders. Dean opens his mouth and Sam knows what he's going to say: "Jackie Chan, Robin Hood, and -"

"I am the Lady Sif."

Dean gulps. She's tall, regal, jet black hair and intense blue eyes.

One look at her and Sam can tell his brother is hopelessly lost. The last time he's ever seen that look in Dean's eyes was with Cassie. Dean's hooked, and Sif knows it.

Sometime later she and Dean excuse themselves from the reception.

Dean doesn't come back to the royal guest suite until the next morning.

Sam bitchfaces, but Dean barely notices.

O0o

A couple of days later Sam gets a voicemail from Bobby: "Just checkin' on you boys. Haven't heard from you in a while. Give me a call, will ya? Idjits."

An hour later the sky over Singer Salvage darkens, and Dean and Sam Winchester appear in a blaze of thunder and lightning, resplendent in shining armor.

Bobby takes one look at the capes and snickers.

O0o

A week later the Winchesters have an audience with Odin and Thor.

Sam stands straight and tall, nods respectfully at the Asgardians. Dean does the same, without the hesitation he displayed before.

"My brother and I have decided to renounce any claim we have on Mjolnir," Sam says solemnly.

Odin nods.

"May I ask why?" Thor asks quietly.

Dean shrugs. "We don't want to step on your toes, you know? The hammer's yours, and we're fine with that. All we do with it is smash stuff. You can call down lightning and fly." Dean shakes his head. "I'm not a big fan of flying. Besides, we want to honor the way our dad taught us to hunt."

That last remark brings a smile to Odin's face. "Well said. Spoken like a true warrior. I would expect no less from you." The AllFather quirks an eyebrow at the brothers. "And you _are_ noble warriors, even if you do not think of yourselves in that way. So be it."

O0o

The next morning Odin and Thor look on, bemused, as the Winchesters leave Asgard.

Dean closes his eyes, hums "Some Kind of Monster" under his breath just as Heimdall activates the gate.

Everyone present politely pretends not to notice.

O0o

Things have changed, but they're still the same. Sam and Dean continue the family business, saving people, hunting things. Dean refuses to give up his baby, and yet, sometimes he does miss wearing his armor.

But he doesn't miss that cape.

Not one damn bit.

Sam grumbles a little, because now that Sif's riding shotgun, he has to sit in the back.

-30-


	22. The Water Horse

_**Up now: **The Water Horse: Legend of the Deep._ Winchester style.

* * *

He feeds it fish, for God's sake. It's got cute written all over it, and big eyes that follow his every move.

He should kill it. That's what hunters do, right? Kill fugly things and move on.

The good news is he's driving the Impala. The bad news is he's driving the Impala _alone._ Three months ago Dad flipped Dean the keys to the Impala and grunted "We can cover more ground this way."

At the time Dean nodded and pretended everything was okay, like he always does. Dad's got enough to worry about without his eldest son getting all emo about stuff. That's Sam's MO. At least, it was.

Now Dad's three states away now, and Sammy's playing normal college guy at Stanford.

The previous hunt involved a wrog that tossed Dean around like a tennis ball before he ganked the damn thing. Dean's just passing through, staying at one of Bobby's cabins out by Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri, of all damn places. He's just settling in for the night, just him and his sore ribs, when he hears this tiny squeaking in the dark just underneath his window.

It's an egg. A big spotted egg the size of two basketballs that looks like somebody splattered it with day glo green, purple, and blue. Whatever's inside peeps and squeals.

Dean pokes it with his finger. The damn thing gets quiet then. He still doesn't know why he picks it up. He takes the egg inside and makes a nest for it out of one of the blankets on the bed.

He sits on the couch and stares at the nest. The weight of the Colt 1911 in his hand seems wrong somehow, so he puts it away. He doesn't think about smashing the egg, either. The world's hard on orphans, and like it or not, that's what Dean feels like right now.

The next morning when he wakes up the egg is cracked wide open and Skippy's bouncing on the couch beside him. He's the size of a three month old puppy, one long necked happy slapper who scoots along with those flippers and honks like a goose.

As soon as Dean looks into those big limpid eyes "it" becomes "him". And, yeah, Dean calls him Skippy. Still does, even years later. Ya got a problem with _that_?

He goes online that morning as Skippy galumphs through the cabin, bumping into walls, sniffing and nosing everything. The closest critter match Dean finds is called a water horse. Huh.

An hour later Dean fills the bathtub full of water and Skippy hops in like he's been waiting for that all his life.

Dean goes out for a food run and Skippy sits by the front door moaning. He's still sprawled on the floor in the same spot when Dean comes back ninety minutes later. Dean ignores the puppy eyes. He figures he's been guilted by experts, and this little one is a rank amateur.

Skippy turns his nose up at Dean's burgers.

"Good," Dean mumbles through a mouthful of fried meat, bread and cheese. "More for me."

Skippy sticks his head in the bucket of fish and doesn't come up for air until the last fish slides down his throat. Then he burps and looks mighty pleased with himself.

The rest of the day the not so little honker follows Dean from room to room, staring at him wide-eyed like a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons. Dean grumbles, but it's kinda nice having someone else around. That evening they settle down and watch movies together. Skippy snuggles next to Dean and minihonks softly as Dean absentmindedly skitches him underneath his chin.

The first night was rough.

"Dude. You gotta sleep in the bathtub, all right? There's water in there."

Dean sleeps in his own bed, but Skippy cries and moans so much Dean strips down to his black boxer briefs and climbs in the tub with him. He spends the night in there. It's the only way to get Skippy to shut the hell up.

When Dean gets up that morning he discovers that Dad called sometime during the night. Dean's cell's on the nightstand, so he couldn't answer and didn't find out until later. He feels kinda bad about it. Dad's gruff and to the point, as usual. He leaves coordinates. Another job, another town.

And the family business rolls on.

Twenty minutes later Dean watches the morning news with a feeling of dread. Weird stuff happened in the area overnight. Something big came out of the lake. No one was killed, but several cars were overturned and smashed. Several of the locals swore they saw something huge.

With a long neck.

Crap.

Dean wraps Skippy up in a blanket and takes a stroll down to the lake. He doesn't think to tuck his Colt 1911 in his back waistband, and he doesn't even have his Kershaw knife in his boot. Not that any of that would do any good if Momma is as huge as they say she is. He remembers that scene in _The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms_, when that New York cop decided to bust a couple of caps in the rampaging beast's scaly hide as the thing leisurely ambled down Main Street. Dude used a handgun, for God's sake. The beast gobbled Dirty Harry up like a peanut.

Dumbass. Dean's hoping life doesn't imitate art when he hears the rush of water as this huge body comes out of the water behind him.

Dean turns around and looks. Up. And up.

_Damn. _

Skippy pokes his head out of the blanket, looks up at her and honks happily. Big Momma leans down and stares Dean up and down. She looks just like her bouncing baby boy, only supersized.

Dean clears his throat as he carefully, slowly, kneels and opens the blanket. Skippy scrambles out onto the ground. "Here's your baby."

Big Momma honks, softly.

"Now look," Dean says as he straightens up and looks her in the eyes. "Don't make me come back here, y' hear me?"

Another honk, louder this time. Skippy bumps up against Dean's legs, twice, as if to say "Thanks for the grub and the hospitality, fella. We're outta here."

Then he bounces over to his mom. They touch noses and nuzzle each other, and just like that, they waddle back into the lake. Gone.

An hour later Dean pulls the Impala onto I-9. He's headed for Cincinnati, Ohio and a bruja up there who really needs killing. He cranks up the tape player and sings along with Metallica, and he pretends nothing matters.

He's okay. He's fine. Really.

After all, everyone leaves him, sooner or later.


	23. The Ring

**_A/N:_** Let's just pretend that The Ring Two never happened.

**_Summary:_** Seven days ago Dean and Sam Winchester viewed the videotape that "kills you when you watch it." It's the Winchesters versus the little girl spook from The Ring.

**_Definition of Ourobos from Wikipedia:_** The Ouroboros (or Uroborus) is an ancient symbol depicting a serpent or dragon eating its own tail.

"One was very tall, and the other one was very pretty." Taken from Lillith's description of the boys on the show.

**_POV:_** Mostly Samara Morgan from The Ring.

**_Disclaimer:_** I don't own Supernatural or The Ring. This is for entertainment purposes only, and not for profit.

* * *

This dark place is different from before.

Different. Not better.

I don't love my Mommy any more.

I never loved Daddy.

He loved the horses.

He didn't love me.

It won't stop.

* * *

Aidan Keller made his own copy of the videotape with his mother's help. Aidan and Rachel showed the tape to someone else, and Samara killed that one instead. She wanted to hurt people. She was sorry about that, but she did it just the same.

One tape led to one more victim. Then another.

And another.

Samara made the pictures inside their heads first. And then she came to see them seven days later. They screamed at the sight of her, and they drowned in the open air. Their faces swelled and turned grey, mouths stretched wide and awful.

* * *

Seven days after the last tape was played Samara pushed her way up and out of her new coffin and out of the well. Her long straight hair hung dark and clotted over her face. She staggered towards the opening in the television screen, her long white dress stained and heavy with scummy green well water. She pushed her way through into the real world, palms first, and then slowly stood up.

Something was different this time.

She looked down at the floor. She didn't recognize the funny writing down there. There were circles and squiggles, triangles and squares and more circles and wiggly lines.

There were two boys in the room. Seven days ago they both watched the tape.

It was their time now.

One was very tall, and the other one was very pretty. They both wore funny looking sunglasses with red colored glass. Each one held a dusty old book in his hands.

Samara flickered forward. Water dripped from the hem of her dress onto the floor, a trickle at first, then a stream, then a river.

The boys said words into the air, strange words, words she didn't recognize, and Samara stumbled a little. The words made her feel funny. She jittered and shook from side to side.

The water that dripped from her body ran up to the edge of one of the circles, backed up, and then flowed back towards her. She couldn't see anything. She walked towards the tall boy and he didn't back away, he didn't run from her. He just stood there reading out loud.

He tensed up a little, so she knew he really could see her.

She stepped on one of the circles and couldn't go any further. Her nose bumped up against something hard she couldn't see.

The pretty boy became angry. She could hear it in his voice, even though he never stopped saying those words, so she turned and moved towards him. He thundered the funny sounding words at her.

Samara stepped on a square filled with wiggly lines, and she couldn't go any further. She shuffled from shape to shape, and her feet became stuck each time. She couldn't tell for how long, and the two boys never shut up. It was hard not to step on any of the shapes on the floor, even when she flickered.

She stared up at their faces, but she couldn't see their eyes because of the red glass. She tried to make the bad pictures in their heads, tried to fill their heads with the dark water from the well, but it didn't work.

They didn't drown and they didn't die, and they never stopped reading.

She turned and shambled towards the television. She wanted to climb back in. This had never happened to her before, and she didn't like any of it.

A few feet away from the television Samara stopped and cocked her head to one side. She could sense others out there, miles away. Two older men, old like Daddy, one black and one white, and they stood over her open grave at the cemetery.

Samara never smiled while she was alive, but her exposed dark dry bones lay light and fragile against the pale silk of her coffin and grinned up at the full moon.

The black man took a shiny box and poured something dry and white all over her. The other one wore a funny looking cap. He had a shiny box too but what he poured out was wet and smelled nasty. He splashed it all over her.

She tried to climb back inside the television but when she stepped onto one of the squares it made her feet stick to the floor again.

They want me to go away, Samara thought.

The two old men lit books of matches and tossed them into her grave, and the boys never stopped reading.

A flash of bright light hurt Samara's eyes. The fire crawled up her body in a sheet of hungry orange flame. Fine grey ash, black cinders and sparks filled the air around her.

This wasn't right. She was wet and she couldn't burn. She shouldn't burn, but she did.

Samara opened her mouth wide but no scream came out.

She wanted to stay and she wanted to hurt them all, but she couldn't.

* * *

Cabin 6 at the Shelter Mountain Inn was rustic motel skeezy, which really wasn't that different from modern motel skeezy. Bobby and Rufus sat at the kitchen table slowly reacquainting themselves with their old friend Jack Daniels. They had four bottles to work with.

Jobs involving kids were always bad ones. The worst.

An hour later the Winchesters showed up.

Dean wordlessly riffled through the nearly bare kitchen cabinets until he found what he was looking for: three empty glasses. The glasses were really small grape jelly jars, left behind by God only knew who, but the eldest Winchester didn't care, despite the dust inside and the dumb looking cartoon critters that danced around the sides of the jars. He passed one to Sam, kept the other two for himself.

Dean blew the dust out of them and then poured out two portions of Jack for himself. Sam helped himself to some whiskey as his brother sprawled out on the couch, carefully balancing both glasses in each hand.

" 'bout time you two showed up," Bobby drawled lazily. He was feeling no pain at last. "What was the final count? And do I really need to ask if you burned 'em all?"

"We picked up twenty three videotapes." Sam folded his large frame into the nearest armchair.

"Can you say crispy critters, boys and girls? I knew you could. Those dumb ass normals were turnin' out copies faster than Netflix. This was worse than that Bloody Mary crap." Dean disposed of Jack in one long swallow, then huffed tiredly. "Bobby, those crazy ass 2D glasses of yours gave me a damn headache."

"Oh boo hoo, princess. Saved both your asses, now didn't it?" the older man growled.

"That it did." Dean nodded. "Dude, that was genius." He raised his remaining drink in tribute. "I bow to the master." Bobby nodded in response.

"Of course, we never woulda gotten into this mess in the first place if Sammy hadn't been in the mood for porn vids that night."

Rufus snickered. Bobby rolled his eyes.

Oh, Jesus…Sam's cheeks pinked furiously.

"New rule from now on: no more videotapes in motel rooms. Cable or internet porn only." Dean scowled at his brother. "And that goes double for you, Curious George."

Sam stared down at his jar of whiskey, then at his boots.

Dean drank his tequila and then leaned back against the couch cushions. Not much comfort there; the cushions were sprung and worn out, like everything else in the place, but he was so tired he really didn't mind. Not moving for the next day or so suddenly seemed like a damn fine idea.

"We burned all the tapes we tracked down," Sam said quietly, "but who knows how many are really out there?"

Rufus snorted. He idly picked at the label on the whiskey bottle. "We don't know. Can't know."

"And you're okay with that?"

Rufus shrugged. "Have to be. It's the gift that keeps on giving. People will keep playing those videos, the ones we couldn't find. Hell, I'm surprised the damn thing hasn't made it to You Tube yet."

Bobby groaned tiredly. "Don't give those fools any ideas."

That made Rufus laugh. "Give 'em time. It'll happen. They'll make copies too. And this thing will just keep rolling along. That's worst case scenario, junior." He raised his shot glass and favored the others with a thin, bitter smile before he drank. " 'course, we might get lucky, but I doubt it."

"So she goes from being a vengeful spirit to a tulpa," Sam muttered. He stared down at the jelly jar in his hand and gulped his Jack down.

Dean sighed. "You can't fix stupid, Sammy. And I got absolute faith in stupid civilians to screw up absolutely."

"So, uh," Sam said slowly. "What do we do now?"

"Now?" Bobby quirked an eyebrow at him. "We rest up. We go on to the next job, the next town. If this thing's mutated, we come back. That's all we can do."

Sam's bitchface came out in full force then. "Bobby, that's not good enough-"

"Sam," Bobby said flatly, "it'll have to be. For now."

* * *

They sent me away.

Like Daddy did.

But they don't know.

I came back.

I want to hurt people, so I do.

And I'm sorry.

It won't stop.

-30-


	24. The Ring 2, part 1

_**First A/N: **_The song "Will It Go Round In Circles" is by Billy Preston.

_**Second A/N: **_I really had no plans to expand this fic. As far as I was concerned The Ring (or _Ourobos_) was finished. As my muse would say: NOT. This story also took an unexpected turn, which is why it's necessary for me to include this next bit: Castiel does _not_ show up in this fic to heal Dean, not now, not ever. Just thought I'd get that out of the way right now. I don't see the point in writing a Dean whump only to have Lieutenant Columbo show up and magically fix everything. I'd rather see the Winchester brothers support each other, care for each other and deal with whatever life throws at them on their own.

There are graphic scenes of weirdness in this and other chapters. You have been warned.

_**Disclaimer: **_I don't own _Supernatural_ or _The Ring_. This is for entertainment purposes only, and not for profit.

* * *

_**Chapter 2 – the perks of the job**_

Will it go 'round in circles?  
Will it fly high like a bird up in the sky?  
-Billy Preston

_**Two months later**_

Dean doubled over, and his head bitched in response to the change of position. The room spun around him. Colors faded to various shades of grey. He'd had a pain-free week, but now the headache slammed into him with a vengeance, an icy hot spike of agony right between his eyes that made him bite his lips to keep from groaning out loud.

_Hey there, kiddo. I'm back, _the pain gushed eagerly._ Did'ya miss me?_

His duffle was at the foot of his bed, on the floor. He didn't trust himself to stand up and walk, so he crawled across his bed to the edge, stretched his right arm out and down, and groped around until he snagged the handle of the bag. The top of his head throbbed so much it felt like it was going to explode. Dean closed his eyes.

That was a little better.

He did everything by feel from that point. Luckily the aspirin was tucked away in a side pocket. Dean somehow managed to uncap the bottle and shake four aspirin out onto his palm. He dry-chewed them and then curled up in a fetal position on the bed.

His head pounded in time with his heartbeat. It was worse when he moved, so he waited and breathed in short, quick pants.

Sam was out interviewing civilians, which was just as well. Dean had no desire to spook his not-so-little brother with just a damn headache. That was all, and he sure in the hell wasn't gonna cry about it. He could outlast this bitch. Sure he could. He'd done it before, right? No problem. No big deal.

The pain cradled him tightly. Dean waited with his eyes closed, and at some point he dozed off.

The pictures inside his head were tinted red.

Something he couldn't see screamed, high pitched, screechy, like a tea kettle on high flame. He watched the chair spin around all by itself. Hundreds of maggots writhed in the water, and sometimes they looked like people. The older woman with the long dark hair smiled thinly at him as she combed her hair in long, slow strokes.

He didn't like that smile. And he didn't like her.

The severed fingers in the wooden box jumped and jittered like Mexican jumping beans. The tree caught fire next. The horses didn't like the pictures inside their heads either, so they ran to the ocean and drowned themselves.

Dean wished he could gank himself too. He hated the part that always came next. He didn't want to see that little boy.

He was a chubby little fella with blond hair. Couldn't have been more than four or five. The kid always had a smile on his face and a straight razor in his hand. He never stopped smiling, even when he sliced off the tips of his ears, or his fingers, or his nose, and chewed and swallowed them like they were jelly beans.

Dean tried to look away, but he couldn't.

The water was ice cold in the dark place. Dean clenched his jaws so that his teeth wouldn't chatter, but that didn't do any good. It never did. The ring of white light above him filled the sky, and he couldn't feel his arms and legs anymore and he couldn't reach up, he couldn't get out-

Dean opened his eyes.

He blinked at the same lousy drab beige walls, breathed in stale air that smelled faintly of disinfectant.

He was still alone. Sam hadn't come back yet, so Dean lay there listening to the harsh rasp of his breathing, in and out, in and out, and after a while breathing and living and just _being_ became easier. The headache settled down to a dull throb.

This he could deal with, so he sat up. Slowly.

Huh. The aspirin bottle was half empty now. He'd been scarfing the damn things down like peanut M&Ms lately. He put the aspirin bottle and the duffle back where they belonged. The more he moved around, the better he felt.

He knew exactly where those freaky pictures came from. That job with that little girl a couple of months back. That happened sometimes, horrific stuff he'd seen on hunts coming back at him months or weeks later.

Sure, sometimes this life got to be too much. The mind has a funny way of dealing with weirdness. Dean realized that early on, and even when he was a kid he kept all that to himself. He never let Dad know. Dude had enough on his mind. Sam? Same rule applied. The way his body reacted sometimes came with the territory. That was it. That was all.

The headaches? Well, maybe there was something in the air. Allergies. Dust, maybe. Yeah, that was probably it. He'd never been bothered by allergies before, but there was always a first time. Most of the skeezy motels they stayed in definitely weren't the Ritz Hotel.

_Maid service? What the heck is that? I've heard rumors. _

During the past two months he and Sam roamed from state to state, endured desert heat, extreme cold, and everything in between. His body was just reacting to the changes, that was all. So far the headaches and the dreams hadn't directly interfered with hunts, so he decided that he was going to pretty much ignore them until he couldn't ignore them anymore. That was a plan Dean could live with.

Right now he had work to do. He still needed to sharpen those two evergreen stakes they'd need for that job tonight.

Those pagan gods needed killing in the worst way.

* * *

TBC next week.

As Rufus said, you can't fix stupid, especially on the internet.


End file.
